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rHE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
[See page 230 
 
 DUANE HEARD THE PROPRIETOR OF THE INN ADDRESS THE MAN AS 
 COLONEL LONGSTRETH 
 
?' 
 
 * 
 
 THE LONE 
 
 STAR RANGER 
 
 A Romance of the Border 
 
 BY 
 
 ZANE GREY 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS, 
 RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE, Etc. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 M. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 GROS8ET & DUNLAP 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
 Published by Arrangement with Harper 6c Brothers 
 
COPYRIGHT. 1814. BY HAR.P3R & Sk^iJjyH^jRS 
 
 PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF A<1VBBR)OA 
 tPUBLUHED JANUARY. 1915 
 
TO 
 
 CAPTAIN JOHN HUGHES 
 
 AND HIS 
 
 TEXAS RANGERS 
 
 It may seem strange to you that out of all the stories I heard 
 on the Rio Grande I should choose as first that of Buck Duane — 
 outlaw and gunman. 
 
 But, indeed, Ranger Coffee's story of the last of the Duanes 
 has haunted me, and I have given full rein to imagination and 
 have retold it in my own way. It deals with the old law — the 
 old border days — therefore it is better first. Soon, perchance, 
 I shall have the pleasure of writing of the border of to-day, 
 which in Joe Sitter's laconic speech, “ Shore is 'most as bad an' 
 wild as ever!" 
 
 In the North and East there is a popular idea that the fron- 
 tier 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 outlay/ who had ambushed him. 
 Only a few months have passed since then — when I had my 
 memorable sojourn with you — and yet, in that short time, 
 Russell and Moore have crossed the Divide, like Rangers. 
 
 Gentlemen, — I have the honor to dedicate this book to you, 
 and the hope that it shall fall to my lot to tell the world the 
 truth about a strange, unique, and misunderstood body of men 
 • — the Texas Rangers — v/ho made the great Lone Star State 
 habitable, who never know peaceful rest and sleep, who are 
 passing, who surely will not be forgotten and will some day 
 come into their own. 
 
Book I 
 THE OUTLAW 
 
I 
 
LONE 
 
 THE 
 
 STAR RANGER 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 S O it was in him, then — an inherited fighting 
 instinct, a driving intensity to kill. He was 
 the last of the Duanes, that old fighting stock of 
 Texas. But not the memory of his dead father, 
 nor the pleading of his soft-voiced mother, nor the 
 warning of this uncle who stood before him now, 
 had brought to Buck Duane so much realization of 
 the dark passionate strain in his blood. It was the 
 recurrence, a hundredfold increased in power, of a 
 strange emotion that for the last three years had 
 arisen in him. 
 
 “Yes, Cal Bain’s in town, full of bad whisky 
 an’ huntin’ for you,” repeated the elder man,! 
 gravely. 
 
 “It’s the second time,” muttered Duane, as if 
 to himself. 
 
 “Son, you can’t avoid a meetin’. Leave town 
 till Cal sobers up. He ain’t got it in for you when 
 he’s not drinkin’.” 
 
 3 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “But what’s he want me for?” demanded Duane. 
 “‘To insult me again? I won’t stand that twice.” 
 “He’s got a fever that’s rampant in Texas these 
 days, my boy. He wants gun-play. If he meets 
 you he’ll try to kill you.” 
 
 Here it stirred in Duane again, that bursting gush 
 of blood, like a wind of flame shaking all his inner 
 being, and subsiding to leave him. strangely chilled. 
 “Kill me | What for?” he asked. 
 
 * ' Lord knows there ain’t any reason. But what’s 
 that to do with most of the shootin’ these days? 
 Didn’t five cowboys over to Everall’s kill one 
 another dead all because they got to jerkin’ at 
 a quirt among themselves? An’ Cal has no reason 
 to love you. His girl was sweet on you.” 
 
 “I quit when I found out she was his girl.” 
 
 “I reckon she ain’t quit. But never mind her 
 or reasons. Cal’s here, just drunk enough to be 
 ugly. He’s achin’ to kill somebody. He’s one of 
 them four-flush gun-fighters. He’d like to be 
 thought bad. There’s a lot of wild cowboys 
 who ’re ambitious for a reputation. They talk 
 about how quick they are on the draw. They ape 
 Bland an’ King Fisher an’ Hardin an’ all the big 
 outlaws. They make threats about joinin’ the 
 gangs along the Rio Grande. They laugh at the 
 sheriffs an’ brag about how they’d fix the rangers. 
 Cal’s sure not much for you to bother with, if you 
 only keep out of his way.” 
 
 “You mean for me to run?” asked Duane, in 
 acorn. 
 
 “I reckon I wouldn’t put it that way. Just 
 avoid him. Buck, I’m not afraid Cal would get 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 \, ou if you met down there in town. You’ve your 
 father’s eye an’ his slick hand with a gun. What 
 I’m most afraid of is that you’ll kill Bain.” 
 
 Duane was silent, letting his uncle’s earnest 
 words sink in, trying to realize their significance. 
 
 “If Texas ever recovers from that fool war an’ 
 kills off these outlaws, why, a young man will have 
 a lookout,” went on the uncle. “You’re twenty- 
 three now, an’ a powerful sight of a fine fellow, 
 barrin’ your temper. You’ve a chance in life. 
 But if you go gun-fightin’, if you kill a man, you’re 
 ruined. Then you’ll kill another. It’ 11 be the 
 same old story. An’ the rangers would make you 
 an outlaw. The rangers mean law an’ order for 
 Texas. This even-break business doesn’t work 
 with them. If you resist arrest they’il kill you. 
 If you submit to arrest, then you go to jail, an’ 
 mebbe you hang.” 
 
 “I’d never hang,” muttered Duane, darkly. 
 
 “I reckon you wouldn’t,” replied the old man, 
 “You’d be like your father. He was ever ready 
 to draw — too ready. In times like these, with the 
 Texas rangers enforcin’ the law, your Dad would 
 have been driven to the river. An’, son, I’m afraid 
 you’re a chip off the old block. Can’t you hold 
 in — keep your temper — run away from trouble? 
 Because it ’ll only result in you gettin’ the worst 
 of it in the end. Your father was killed in a street- 
 fight. An’ it was told of him that he shot twice 
 after a bullet had passed through his heart. Think 
 of the terrible nature of a man to be able to do 
 that. If you have any such blood in you, never give 
 it a chance.” 
 
 5 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “What you say is all very well, uncle,” returned 
 Duane, “but the only way out for me is to run, and 
 I won’t do it. Cal Bain and his outfit have already 
 made me look like a coward. He says I’m afraid to 
 come out and face him. A man simply can’t stand 
 that in this country. Besides, Cal would shoot me 
 in the back some day if I didn’t face him.” 
 
 “Well, then, what ’re you goin’ to do?” inquired 
 the elder man. 
 
 “I haven’t decided — yet.” 
 
 “No, but you’re cornin’ to it mighty fast. That 
 damned spell is workin’ in you. You’re different 
 to-day. I remember how you used to be moody 
 an’ lose your temper an’ talk wild. Never was 
 much afraid of you then. But now you’re gettin’ 
 cool an’ quiet, an’ you think deep, an’ I don’t like 
 the light in your eye. It reminds me of your father. ’ ’ 
 
 “I wonder what Dad would say to me to-day if 
 he were alive and here,” said Duane. 
 
 “What do you think? What could you expect 
 of a man who never wore 9 glove on his right hand 
 for twenty years?” 
 
 “Well, he’d hardly have said much. Dad never 
 talked. But he would have done a lot. And I 
 guess I’ll go down-town and let Cal Bain find me.” 
 
 Then followed a long silence, during which Duane 
 sat with downcast eyes, and the uncle appeared lost 
 in sad thought of the future. Presently he turned 
 to Duane with an expression that denoted resigna- 
 tion, and yet a spirit which showed wherein they 
 were of the same blood. 
 
 “You’ve got a fast horse — the fastest I know of 
 in this country. After you meet Bain hurry back 
 
 '6 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 home. I’ll have a saddle-bag packed for you and 
 the horse ready.” 
 
 With that he turned on his heel and went into 
 the house, leaving Duane to revolve in his mind 
 his singular speech. Buck wondered presently if 
 he shared his uncle’s opinion of the result of a meet- 
 ing between himself and Bain. His thoughts were 
 vague. But on the instant of final decision, 
 when he had settled with himself that he would 
 meet Bain, such a storm of passion assailed him 
 that he felt as if he was being shaken with ague. 
 Yet it was all internal, inside his breast, for his 
 hand was like a rock and, for all he could see, not a 
 muscle about him quivered. He had no fear of Bain 
 or of any other man; but a vague fear of himself, of 
 this strange force in him, made him ponder and 
 shake his head. It was as if he had not all to say 
 in this matter. There appeared to have been in 
 him a reluctance to let himself go, and some voice, 
 some spirit from a distance, something he was not 
 accountable for, had compelled him. That hour of 
 Duane’s life was like years of actual living, and in it 
 he became a thoughtful man. 
 
 He went into the house and buckled on his belt 
 and gun. The gun was a Colt .45, six-shot, and 
 heavy, with an ivory handle. He had packed it, 
 on and off, for five years. Before that it had been 
 used by his father. There were a number of notches 
 filed in the bulge of the ivory handle. This gun was 
 the one his father had fired twice after being shot 
 through the heart, and his hand had stiffened so 
 tightly upon it in the death-grip that his fingers had 
 to be pried open. It had never been drawn upon 
 
 7 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 any man since it had come into Duane’s possession. 
 But the cold, bright polish of the weapon showed 
 how it had been used. Duane could draw it with 
 inconceivable rapidity, and at twenty feet he could 
 split a card pointing edgewise toward him. 
 
 Duane wished to avoid meeting his mother. 
 Fortunately, as he thought, she was away from home. 
 He went out and down the path toward the gate. 
 The air was full of the fragrance of blossoms and the 
 melody of birds. Outside in the road a neighbor 
 woman stood talking to a countryman in a wagon; 
 they spoke to him; and he heard, but did not reply 
 Then he began to stride down the road toward the 
 town. 
 
 Wellston was a small town, but important in that 
 unsettled part of the great state because it was the 
 trading-center of several hundred miles of territory. 
 On the main street there were perhaps fifty build- 
 ings, some brick, some frame, mostly adobe, and 
 one-third of the lot, and by far the most prosperous, 
 were saloons. From the road Duane turned into 
 this street. It was a wide thoroughfare lined by 
 hitching-rails and saddled horses and vehicles of 
 various kinds. Duane’s eye ranged down the 
 street, taking in all at a glance, particularly persons 
 moving leisurely up and down. Not a cowboy was 
 in sight. Duane slackened his stride, and by the 
 time he reached Sol White’s place, which was the 
 first saloon, he was walking slowly. Several people 
 spoke to him and turned to look back after they had 
 passed. He paused at the door of White’s saloon, 
 took a sharp survey of the interior, then step' >ed 
 inside. 
 
 8 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 The saloon was large and cool, full of men and 
 noise and smoke. The noise ceased upon his en- 
 trance, 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, question- 
 ing. 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 tali, 
 raw-boned Texan with a long mustache waxed tc 
 sharp points. 
 
 “Howdy, Buck,” was his greeting to Duane. He 
 spoke carelessly and averted his dark gcr.e for an 
 instant. 
 
 “Howdy, Sol,” replied Duane, slowly. “Say, 
 Sol, I hear there’s a gent in town looking for me 
 bad.” 
 
 “Reckon there is, Buck,” replied White. “He 
 came in heah aboot an hour ago. Shore he was some 
 riled an’ a-roarin’ for gore. Told me confidential 
 a certain party had given you a white silk scarf, an’ 
 he was hell-bent on wearin’ it home spotted red.” 
 
 “Anybody with him?” queried Duane. 
 
 “Burt an’ Sam Outcalt an’ a little cowpundher 
 
 9 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 I never seen before. They-all was coaxin’ him to 
 leave town. But he’s looked on the flowin’ glass, 
 Buck, an’ he’s heah for keeps.” 
 
 “IiWiy doesn’t Sheriff Oaks lock him up if he’s 
 that bad?” 
 
 “Oaks went away with the rangers. There’s 
 been another raid at Flesher’s ranch. The King 
 Fisher gang, likely. An’ so the town’s shore wide 
 open.” 
 
 Duane stalked outdoors and faced down the 
 street. He walked the whole length of the long 
 block, meeting many people — farmers, ranchers, 
 clerks, merchants, Mexicans, cowboys, and women. 
 It was a singular fact that when he turned to retrace 
 his steps the street was almost empty. He had not 
 returned a hundred yards on his way when the 
 street was wholly deserted A few heads protruded 
 from doors and around comers. That main street 
 of Wells ton 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 quick- 
 ness the signs of a coming gun-play. Rumor could 
 not fly so swiftly. In less than ten minutes every- 
 body who had been on the street or in the shops 
 knew that Buck Duane had come forth to meet his 
 enemy. | 
 
 Duane walked on. When he came to within fifty 
 paces of a saloon he swerved out into the middle of 
 the street, stood there for a moment, then went 
 ahead and back to the sidewalk. He passed on in 
 this way the length of the block. Sol White was 
 standing in the door of his saloon. 
 
 “Buck, I’m a-tippin’ you off,” he said, quick and 
 
 IO 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 low- voiced. “Cal Bain’s over at Everall’s. If 
 he’s a -huntin’ you bad, as he brags, he’ll show’ 
 there.” 
 
 Duane crossed the street and started down. Not- 
 withstanding White’s statement Duane was wary 
 and slow at every door. Nothing happened, and 
 he traversed almost the whole length of the block 
 without seeing a person. Everall’s place was on 
 the comer. 
 
 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 en- 
 counter more than anything he had ever wanted. 
 But, vivid as were his sensations, he felt as if in a 
 dream. 
 
 Before he reached Everall’s he heard loud voices, 
 one of which was raised high. Then the short door 
 swung outward as if impelled by a vigorous hand. 
 A bow-legged cowboy wearing woolly 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 drank he did not show it in his move- 
 ment. 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 de- 
 meanor. His hands were extended before him, the 
 right hand a little lower than the left. At evei > 
 
 2 II 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 step he bellowed his rancor in speech mostly curses. 
 Gradually he slowed his walk, then halted. A good 
 twenty-five paces separated the men. 
 
 “Won’t nothin’ make you draw, you — — he 
 shouted, fiercely. 
 
 “I’m waitin’ on you, Cal,’ : replied Duane. 
 
 Bain’s right hand stiffened — moved. Duane 
 threw his gun as a boy throws a ball underhand— 
 a draw his father had taught him. He pulled twice, 
 his shots almost as one. Bain’s big Colt boomed 
 while it was pointed downward and he was falling. 
 His bullet scattered dust and gravel at Duane’s 
 feet. He fell loosely, without contortion. 
 
 In a flash all was reality for Duane. He went for- 
 ward and held his gun ready for the slightest move- 
 ment on the part of Bain. But Bain lay upon his 
 back, and all that moved were his breast and his 
 eyes. How strangely the red had left his face — 
 and also the distortion ! The devil that had showed 
 in Bain was gone. He was sober and conscious. 
 He tried to speak, but failed. His eyes expressed 
 something pitifully human. They changed— rolled 
 — set blankly. 
 
 Duane drew a deep breath and sheathed his 
 gun. He felt calm and cool, glad the fray was over. 
 One violent expression burst from him. “The 
 fool!” 
 
 When he looked up there were men around him. 
 
 “Plumb center,” said one. 
 
 Another, a cowboy who evidently had just left 
 the gaming-table, leaned down and pulled open 
 Bain’s shirt. He had the ace of spades in his hand. 
 He laid it on Bain’s breast, and the black figure on 
 
 12 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 the card covered the two bullet - holes just over 
 Bain’s heart. 
 
 Duane wheeled and hurried away. He heard 
 another man say: 
 
 “Reckon Cal got what he deserved. Buck 
 Duane’s first gun-play. Like father like son!” 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 A THOUGHT kept repeating itself to Duane, 
 and it was that he might have spared himself 
 concern through his imagining how awful it would 
 be to kill a man. He had no such feeling now. He 
 had rid the community of a drunken, bragging, 
 quarrelsome cowboy. 
 
 When he came to the gate of his home and saw 
 his uncle there with a mettlesome horse, saddled, 
 with canteen, rope, and bags all in place, a subtle 
 shock pervaded his spirit. It had slipped his mind — 
 the consequence of his act. But sight of the horse 
 and the look of his uncle recalled the fact that he 
 must now become a fugitive. An unreasonable 
 anger took hold of him. 
 
 “The d — d fool!” he exclaimed, hotly. “Meet- 
 ing Bain wasn’t much, Uncle Jim. He dusted my 
 boots, that’s all. And for that I’ve got to go on 
 the dodge.” 
 
 “Son, you killed him — then?” asked the uncle, 
 huskily. 
 
 “Yes. I stood over him — watched him die. I 
 did as I would have been done by.” 
 
 “I knew it. Long ago I saw it cornin’. But now 
 we can’t stop to cry over spilt blood. You’ve got 
 to leave town an’ this part of the country.” 
 “Mother!” exclaimed Duane. 
 
 14 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “She’s away from home. You can’t wait. I’ll 
 break it to her — what she always feared.” 
 
 Suddenly Duane sat down and covered his face 
 with his hands. 
 
 “My God! Uncle, what have I done?” His 
 broad shoulders shook. 
 
 “Listen, son, an’ remember what I say,” replied 
 the elder man, earnestly. “Don’t ever forget. 
 You’re not to blame. I’m glad to see you take it 
 this way, because maybe you’ll never grow hard an’ 
 callous. You’re not to blame. This is Texas. 
 You’re your father’s son. These are wild times. 
 The law as the rangers are laying it down now can’t 
 change life all in a minute. Even your mother, 
 who’s a good, true woman, has had her share in 
 making you what you are this moment. For she 
 was one of the pioneers — the fightin’ pioneers of this 
 state. Those years of wild times, before you was 
 born, developed in her instinct to fight, to save her 
 life, her children, an’ that instinct has cropped out 
 in you. It will be many years before it dies out of 
 the boys born in Texas.” 
 
 “I’m a murderer,” said Duane, shuddering. 
 
 “No, son, you’re not. An’ you never will be. 
 But you’ve got to be an outlaw till time makes it 
 safe for you to come home.” 
 
 “An outlaw?” 
 
 “I said it. If we had money an’ influence we’d 
 risk a trial. But we’ve neither. An’ I reckon the 
 scaffold or jail is no place for Buckley Duane. 
 Strike for the wild country, an’ wherever you go 
 an’ whatever you do — be a man. Live honestly, if 
 that’s possible. If it isn’t, be as honest as you can. 
 
 15 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 it you have to herd with outlaws try not to become 
 bad. There are outlaws who ’re not all bad — many 
 who have been driven to the river by such a deal 
 as this you had. When you get among these men 
 avoid brawls. Don’t drink; don’t gamble. I needn’t 
 tell you what to do if it comes to gun-play, as likely 
 it will. You can’t come home. When this thing is 
 lived down, if that time ever comes, I’ll get word 
 into the unsettled country. It ’ll reach you some 
 day. That’s all. Remember, be a man. Good- 
 by.” 
 
 Duane, with blurred sight and contracting throat, 
 gripped his uncle’s hand and bade him a wordless 
 farewell. Then he leaped astride the black and 
 rode out of town. 
 
 As swiftly as was consistent with a care for his 
 steed, Duane put a distance of fifteen or eighteen 
 miles behind him. With that he slowed up, and 
 the matter of riding did not require all his faculties. 
 He passed several ranches and was seen by men. 
 This did not suit him, and he took an old trail across 
 country. It was a flat region with a poor growth 
 of mesquite and prickly-pear cactus. Occasionally" 
 he caught a glimpse of low hills in the distance. He 
 had hunted often in that section, and knew where 
 to find grass and water. When he reached this high- 
 er ground he did not, however, halt at the first fav- 
 orable camping-spot, but went on and on. Once 
 he came out upon the brow of a hill and saw a con- 
 siderable stretch of country beneath him. It had 
 the gray sameness characterising all that he had 
 traversed. He seemed to want to see wide spaces — 
 to get a glimpse of the great wilderness lying some- 
 
 16 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 where beyond to the southwest. It was sunset 
 when he decided to camp at a likely spot he came 
 across. He led the horse to water, and then began 
 searching through the shallow valley for a suitable 
 place to camp. He passed by old camp-sites that 
 he well remembered. These, however, did not 
 strike his fancy this time, and the significance of 
 the change in him did not occur at the moment. 
 At last he found a secluded spot, under cover of 
 thick mesquites and oaks, at a goodly distance from 
 the old trail. He took saddle and pack off the horse. 
 He looked among his effects for a hobble, and, find- 
 ing that his uncle had failed to put one in, he sud- 
 denly remembered that he seldom used a hobble, 
 and never on this horse. He cut a few feet off the 
 end of his lasso and used that. The horse, unused 
 to such hampering of his free movements, had to 
 be driven out upon the grass. 
 
 Duane made a small fire, prepared and ate his 
 supper. This done, ending the work of that day, 
 he sat down and filled his pipe. Twilight had waned 
 into dusk. A few wan stars had just begun to show 
 and brighten. Above the low r continuous hum of 
 insects sounded the evening carol of robins. Pres- 
 ently the birds ceased their singing, and then the 
 quiet was more noticeable. When night set in and 
 the place seemed all the more isolated and lonely 
 for that Duane had a sense of relief. 
 
 It dawned upon him all at once that he was 
 nervous, watchful, sleepless. The fact caused him 
 surprise, and he began to think back, to take note 
 of his late actions and their motives. The change 
 one day had wrought amazed him. He who had 
 
 17 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 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 mesauite and rock bordering 
 the Rio Grande. Somewhere out there was a refuge. 
 For he was a fugitive from justice, an outlaw. 
 
 This being an outlaw then meant eternal vigilance. 
 No home, no rest, no sleep, no content, no life worth 
 the living! He must be a lone wolf or he must 
 herd among men obnoxious to him. If he worked 
 for an honest living he still must hide his identity 
 and take risks of detection. If he did not work on 
 some distant outlying ranch, how was he to live? 
 The idea of stealing was repugnant to him. The 
 future seemed gray and somber enough. And he 
 was twenty-three years old. 
 
 Why had this hard life been imposed upon him? 
 
 The bitter question seemed to start a strange ici- 
 ness 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 
 
 18 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 in that position. He had heard a step. It was be- 
 hind him — no — on the side. Some one was there. 
 He forced his hand down to his gun, and the touch 
 of cold steel was another icy shock. Then he waited. 
 But all was silent — silent as only a wilderness arroyo 
 can be, with its low murmuring of wind in the mes- 
 quite. Had he heard a step ? He began to breathe 
 again. 
 
 But what was the matter with the light of his 
 camp-fire? It had taken on a strange green luster 
 and seemed to be waving off into the outer shadows. 
 Duane heard no step, saw no movement; neverthe- 
 less, there was another present at that camp-fire 
 vigil. Duane saw him. He lay there in the middle 
 of the green brightness, prostrate, motionless, dy- 
 ing. Cal Bain! His features were wonderfully dis- 
 tinct, clearer than any cameo, more sharply outlined 
 than those of any picture. It was a hard face soft- 
 ening at the threshold of eternity. The red tan of 
 sun, the coarse signs of drunkenness, the ferocity and 
 hate so characteristic of Bain were no longer there. 
 This face represented a different Bain, showed all 
 that was human in him fading, fading as swiftly as 
 it blanched white. The lips wanted to speak, but 
 had not the power. The eyes held an agony of 
 thought. They revealed what might have been 
 possible for this man if he lived — that he saw his 
 mistake too late. Then they rolled, set blankly, 
 and closed in death. 
 
 That haunting visitation left Duane sitting there 
 in a cold sweat, a remorse gnawing at his vitals, 
 realizing the curse that was on him. He divined 
 that never would he be able to keep off that phantom. 
 
 19 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 He remembered how his father had been eternally 
 pursued by the furies of accusing guilt, how he had 
 never been able to forget in work or in sleep those 
 men he had killed. 
 
 The hour was late when Duane’s mind let him 
 sleep, and then dreams troubled him. In the 
 morning he bestirred himself so early that in the 
 gray gloom he had difficulty in finding Ills horse. 
 Day had just broken when he struck the old trail 
 again. 
 
 He rode hard all morning and halted in a shady 
 spot to rest and graze his horse. In the afternoon 
 he took to the trail at an easy trot. The country 
 grew wilder. Bald, rugged mountains broke the 
 level of the monotonous horizon. About three in 
 the afternoon he came to a little river which marked 
 the boundary line of his hunting territory. 
 
 The decision he made to travel up-stream for a 
 while was owing to two facts: the river was high 
 with quicksand bars on each side, and he felt re- 
 luctant to cross into that region where his presence 
 alone meant that he was a marked man. The bot- 
 tom-lands through wffiich the river wound to the 
 southwest were more inviting than the barrens he 
 had traversed. The rest of that day he rode leis- 
 urely up-stream. At sunset he penetrated the 
 brakes of willow and cottonwood to spend the night. 
 It seemed to him that in this lonely cover he would 
 feel easy and content. But he did not. Every feel- 
 ing, every imagining he had experienced the previ- 
 ous night returned somewhat more vividly and ac- 
 centuated by newer ones of the same intensity and 
 color. 
 
 20 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 In this kind of travel and camping he spent three 
 more days, during which he crossed a number of 
 trails, and one road where cattle — stolen cattle, prob- 
 ably — had recently passed. This time exhausted his 
 supply of food, except salt, pepper, coffee, and sugar, 
 of which he had a quantity. There were deer in the 
 brakes; but, as he could not get close enough to kill 
 them with a revolver, he had to satisfy himself with 
 a rabbit. He knew he might as well content him- 
 self with the hard fare that assuredly would be his 
 lot. 
 
 Somewhere up this river there was a village called 
 Huntsville. It was distant about a hundred miles 
 from Wellston, and had a reputation throughout 
 southwestern Texas. He had never been there. 
 The fact was this reputation was such that honest 
 travelers gave the town a wide berth. Duane had 
 considerable money for him in his possession, and 
 he concluded to visit Huntsville, if he could find it, 
 and buy a stock of provisions. 
 
 The following day, toward evening, he happened 
 upon a road which he believed might lead to the 
 village. There were a good many fresh horse-tracks 
 in the sand, and these made him thoughtful. Never- 
 theless, he followed the road, proceeding cautiously. 
 He had not gone very far when the sound of rapid 
 hoof-beats caught his ears. They came from his 
 rear. In the darkening twilight he could not see 
 any great distance back along the road. Voices, 
 however, warned him that these riders, whoever 
 they weie, 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 mesqtrites 
 
 21 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 and halted, hoping to escape being seen or heard. 
 As he was now a fugitive, it seemed every man was 
 his enemy and pursuer. 
 
 The horsemen were fast approaching. Presently 
 they were abreast of Duane’s position, so near that 
 he could hear the creak of saddles, the clink of spurs. 
 
 “Shore he crossed the river below,” said one man. 
 
 “I reckon you’re right, Bill. He’s slipped us,” 
 replied another. 
 
 Rangers or a posse of ranchers in pursuit of a 
 fugitive! The knowledge gave Duane a strange 
 thrill. Certainly they could not have been hunting 
 him. But the feeling their proximity gave him was 
 identical to what it would have been had he been 
 this particular hunted man. He held his breath; 
 he clenched his teeth; he pressed a quieting hand 
 upon his horse. Suddenly he became aware that 
 these horsemen had halted. They were whispering. 
 He could just make oift a dark group closely massed. 
 What had made them halt so suspiciously? 
 
 “You’re wrong, Bill,” said a man, in a low but 
 distinct voice. “The idee of hearin’ a hoss heave! 
 You’re wuss’n a ranger. An’ you’re hell-bent on 
 killin’ that rustler. Now I say let’s go home an’ 
 eat.” 
 
 “Wal, I’ll just take a look at the sand,” replied 
 the man called Bill. 
 
 Duane heard the clink of spurs on steel stirrup 
 and the thud of boots on the ground. There fol- 
 lowed a short silence which was broken by a sharply 
 breathed exclamation. 
 
 Duane waited for no more. They had found his 
 trail. He spurred his horse straight into the brush. 
 
 22 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 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 shader 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 of the night — these things that presaged the coming 
 of Cal Bain Doggedly Duane fought against the 
 insidious phantom. He kept telling himself that it 
 was just imagination, that it would wear off in 
 time. Still in his heart he did not believe what he 
 hoped. But he would not give up; he would not 
 accept the ghost of his victim as a reality. 
 
 Gray dawn found him in the saddle again headed 
 for the river. Half an hour of riding brought him 
 to the dense chaparral and willow thickets. These 
 he threaded to come at length to the ford. It was 
 a gravel bottom, and therefore an easy crossing. 
 Once upon the opposite shore he reined in his horse 
 and looked darkly back. This action marked his 
 acknowledgment of his situation: he had volun- 
 tarily sought the refuge of the outlaws; he was be- 
 yond the pale. A bitter and passionate curse passed 
 his lips as he spurred his horse into the brakes on 
 that alien shore. 
 
 He rode perhaps twenty miles, not sparing his 
 horse nor caring whether or not he left a plain 
 trail. 
 
 “Let them hunt me!” he muttered. 
 
 When the heat of the day began to be oppressive, 
 and hunger and thirst made themselves manifest, 
 Duane began to look about him for a place to halt 
 for the noon-hours. The trail led into a road which 
 was hard packed and smooth from the tracks of 
 cattle. He doubted not that he had come across 
 one of the roads used by border raiders. He headed 
 into it, and had scarcely traveled a mile when, turn- 
 ing a curve, he came point-blank upon a single horse- 
 man riding toward him. Both riders wheeled their 
 
 24 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 mounts sharply and were ready to run and shoot 
 back. Not more than a hundred paces separated 
 them. They stood then for a moment watching 
 each other. 
 
 “Mawnin’, stranger,” called the man, dropping 
 his hand from his hip. 
 
 “Howdy,” replied Duane, shortly. 
 
 They rode toward each other, closing half the gap, 
 then they halted again. 
 
 “I seen you ain’t no ranger,” called the rider, 
 “an’ shore I ain’t none.” 
 
 He laughed loudly, as if he had made a joke. 
 
 “How’d you know I wasn’t a ranger?” asked 
 Duane, curiously. Somehow he had instantly di- 
 vined that this horseman was no officer, or even a 
 rancher trailing stolen stock. 
 
 “Wal,” said the fellow, starting his horse forward 
 at a walk, “a ranger’d never git ready to run the 
 other way from one man.” 
 
 He laughed again. He was small and wiry, 
 slouchy of attire, and armed to the teeth, and he 
 bestrode a fine bay horse. He had quick, dancing 
 brown eyes, at once frank and bold, and a coarse, 
 bronzed face. Evidently he was a good-natured 
 ruffian. 
 
 Duane acknowledged the truth of the assertion, 
 and turned over in his mind how shrewdly the fellow 
 had guessed him to be a hunted man. 
 
 “My name’s Luke Stevens, an’ I hail from the 
 river. Who ’re you?” said this stranger. 
 
 Duane was silent. 
 
 “I reckon you’re Buck Duane,” went on Stevens. 
 “I heerd you was a damn bad man with a gun.” 
 
 25 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 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 swift- 
 ly facts about gun-play traveled on the Texas border. 
 
 “Wal, Buck,” said Stevens, in a friendly manner, 
 “I ain’t presumin’ on your time or company. I 
 see you’re headin’ fer the river. But will you stop 
 long enough to stake a feller to a bite of grub?” 
 
 “I’m out of grub, and pretty hungry myself,” 
 admitted Duane. 
 
 “Been pushin’ your hoss, I see. Wal, I reckon 
 you’d better stock up before you hit thet stretch of 
 country.” 
 
 He made a wide sweep of his right arm, indicating 
 the southwest, and there was that in his action which 
 seemed significant of a vast and barren region. 
 
 “Stock up?” queried Duane, thoughtfully. 
 
 “Shore. A feller has jest got to eat. I can 
 rustle along without whisky, but not without grub. 
 Thet’s what makes it so embarrassin’ travelin’ these 
 parts dodgin’ your shadow. Now, I’m on my way 
 to Mercer. It’s a little two-bit town up the river 
 a ways. I’m goin’ to pack out some grub.” 
 
 Stevens’s tone was inviting. Evidently he would 
 welcome Duane’s companionship, but he did not 
 openly say so. Duane kept silence, however, and 
 then Stevens went on. 
 
 “Stranger, in this here country two’s a crowd. 
 It’s safer. I never was much on this lone - wolf 
 dodgin’, though I’ve done it of necessity. It takes 
 a damn good man to travel alone any length of time. 
 Why, I’ve been thet sick I was jest achin’ fer some 
 ranger to come along an’ plug me. Give me a 
 
 26 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 pardner any day. Now, mebbe you’re not thet kind 
 of a feller, an’ I’m shore not presumin’ to ask. But 
 I jest declares myself sufficient.” 
 
 ‘‘You mean you’d like me to go with you?” asked 
 Duane. 
 
 Stevens grinned. ‘‘Wal, I should smile. I'd be 
 particular proud to be braced with a man of your 
 reputation.” 
 
 “See here, my good fellow, that’s all nonsense,” 
 declared Duane, in some haste. 
 
 “Shore I think modesty becomin’ to a youngster,” 
 replied Stevens. “I hate a brag. An’ I’ve no use 
 fer these four-flush cowboys thet ’re always lookin’ 
 fer trouble an’ talkin’ gun-play. Buck, I don’t 
 know much about you. But every man who’s 
 lived along the Texas border remembers a lot about 
 your Dad. It was expected of you, I reckon, an’ 
 much of your rep was established before you 
 throwed your gun. I jest heerd thet you was light- 
 nin’ on the draw, an’ when you cut loose with a gun, 
 why the figger on the ace of spades would cover 
 your cluster of bullet-holes. Thet’s the word thet’s 
 gone down the border. It’s the kind of reputation 
 most sure to fly far an’ swift ahead of a man in this 
 country. An’ the safest, too; I’ll gamble on thet. 
 It’s the land of the draw. I see now you’re only a 
 boy, though you’re shore a strappin’ husky one. 
 Now, Buck, I’m not a spring chicken, an’ I’ve been 
 long on the dodge. Mebbe a little of my society 
 won’t hurt you none. You’ll need to learn the 
 country.” 
 
 There was something sincere and likable about 
 this outlaw. 
 
 3 
 
 27 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 ‘T 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 com- 
 panion did not seem to mind that. He was a jocose, 
 voluble fellow, probably glad now to hear the sound 
 of his own voice. Duane listened, and sometimes 
 he thought with a pang of the distinction of name 
 and heritage of blood his father had left to him. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 L ATE that day, a couple of hours before sunset, 
 Duane and Stevens, having rested their horses 
 in the shade of some mesquites near the town of 
 Mercer, saddled up and prepared to move. 
 
 “Buck, as we’re lookin’ fer grub, an’ not trouble, 
 I reckon you’d better hang up out here,” Stevens 
 was saying, as he mounted. “You see, towns an’ 
 sheriffs an’ rangers are always lookin’ fer new fellers 
 gone bad. They sort of forget most of the old boys, 
 except those as are plumb bad. Now, nobody in 
 Mercer will take notice of me. Reckon there’s been 
 a thousand men run into the river country to be- 
 come outlaws since yours truly. You jest wait 
 here an’ be ready to ride hard. Mebbe my besettin’ 
 sin will go operatin’ in spite of my good intentions. 
 In which case there’ll be — ” 
 
 His pause was significant. He grinned, and his 
 brown eyes danced with a kind of wild humor. 
 
 “Stevens, have you got any money?” asked 
 Duane. 
 
 “Money!” exclaimed Luke, blankly. “Say, I 
 haven’t owned a two-bit piece since — wal, fer some 
 time.” 
 
 “I’ll furnish money for grub,” returned Duane. 
 “And for whisky, too, providing you hurry back 
 here — without making trouble.” 
 
 29 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “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 cotton- 
 woods. Pastures of alfalfa were dotted by horses 
 and cattle. Duane saw a sheep-herder driving in a 
 meager flock. 
 
 Presently Stevens rode out of sight into the town. 
 Duane waited, hoping the outlaw would make good 
 his word. Probably not a quarter of an hour had 
 elapsed when Duane heard the clear reports of a 
 Winchester rifle, the clatter of rapid hoof -beats, and 
 yells unmistakably the kind to mean danger for a 
 man like Stevens. Duane mounted and rode to the 
 edge of the mesquites. 
 
 He saw a cloud of dust down the road and a bay 
 horse running fast. Stevens apparently had not 
 been wounded by any of the shots, for he had a 
 steady seat in his saddle and his riding, even at that 
 moment, struck Duane as admirable. He carried a 
 large pack over the pommel, and he kept looking 
 back. The shots had ceased, but the yells increased. 
 Duane saw several men running and waving their 
 arms. Then he spurred his horse and got into a 
 swift stride, so Stevens would not pass him. Pres- 
 ently the outlaw caught up with him. Stevens was 
 grinning, but there was now no fun in the dancing 
 eyes. It was a devil that danced in them. His 
 face seemed a shade paler. 
 
 3 ° 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “Was jest cornin’ out of the store,” yelled Stevens. 
 “Run plumb into a rancher — who knowed me. He 
 opened up with a rifle. Think they’ll chase us.” 
 They covered several miles before there were any 
 signs of pursuit, and when horsemen did move into 
 sight out of the cottonwoods Duane and his com- 
 panion steadily drew farther away. 
 
 “No hosses in thet bunch to worry us,” called out 
 Stevens. 
 
 Duane had the same conviction, and he did not 
 look back again. He rode somewhat to the fore, and 
 was constantly aware of the rapid thudding of hoofs 
 behind, as Stevens kept close to him. At sunset 
 they reached the willow brakes and the river. 
 Duane’s horse was winded and lashed with sweat 
 and lather. It was not until the crossing had been 
 accomplished that Duane halted to rest his animal. 
 Stevens was riding up the low, sandy bank. He 
 reeled in the saddle. With an exclamation of sur- 
 prise Duane leaped off and ran to the outlaw’s side. 
 
 Stevens was pale, and his face bore beads of sweat - 
 The whole front of his shirt was soaked with blood. 
 “You’re shot!” cried Duane. 
 
 “ Wal, who ’n hell said I wasn’t ? Would you mind 
 givin’ me a lift — on this here pack?” 
 
 Duane lifted the heavy pack down and then helped 
 Stevens to dismount. The outlaw had a bloody 
 foam on his lips, and he was spitting blood. 
 
 “Oh, why didn’t you say so!” cried Duane. “I 
 never thought. You seemed all right.” 
 
 “Wal, Luke Stevens may be as gabby as an old 
 woman, but sometimes he doesn’t say anythin’. ' It 
 wouldn’t have done no good.” 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 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, hold- 
 ing himself and that heavy pack in the saddle, had 
 been a feat little short of marvelous. Duane did 
 not see how it had been possible, and he felt no hope 
 for the outlaw. But he plugged the wounds and 
 bound them tightly. 
 
 '‘Feller’s name was Brown,” Stevens said. "Me 
 an’ him fell out over a hoss I stole from him over in 
 Huntsville. We had a shootin’-scrape then. Wal, 
 as I was straddlin’ my hoss back there in Mercer 
 I seen this Brown, an’ seen him before he seen me. 
 Could have killed him, too. But I wasn’t breakin’ 
 my word to you. I kind of hoped he wouldn’t spot 
 me. But he did — an’ fust shot he got me here. 
 What do you think of this hole?” 
 
 "It’s pretty bad,” replied Duane; and he could 
 not look the cheerful outlaw in the eyes. 
 
 "I reckon it is. Wal, I’ve had some bad wounds 
 I lived over. Guess mebbe I can stand this one. 
 Now, Buck, get me some place in the brakes, leave 
 me some grub an’ water at my hand, an’ then you 
 clear out.” 
 
 "Leave you here alone?” asked Duane, sharply. 
 
 * ‘ Shore. Y ou see, I can’t keep up with you. Brown 
 an’ his friends will foller us acrost the river a ways. 
 You’ve got to think of number one in this game.” 
 
 “What would you do in my case?” asked Duane, 
 curiously. 
 
 "Wal, I reckon I’d clear out an’ save my hide,” 
 replied Stevens. 
 
 32 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 Duane felt inclined to doubt the outlaw’s asser- 
 tion. For his own part he decided his conduct with- 
 out 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 sad- 
 dle, turned into the brakes, being careful to pick 
 out hard or grassy ground that left little signs of 
 tracks. Just about dark he ran across a trail that 
 Stevens said was a good one to take into the wild 
 country. 
 
 “Reckon we’d better keep right on in the dark — 
 till I drop,” concluded Stevens, with a laugh. 
 
 All that night Duane, gloomy and thoughtful, 
 attentive to the wounded outlaw, walked the trail 
 and never halted till daybreak. He was tired then 
 and very hungry. Stevens seemed in bad shape, 
 although he was still spirited and cheerful. Duane 
 made camp. The outlaw refused food, but asked 
 for both whisky and water. Then he stretched out. 
 
 “Buck, will you take off my boots?” he asked, 
 with a faint smile on his pallid face. 
 
 Duane removed them, wondering if the outlaw 
 had the thought that he did not want to die with 
 his boots on. Stevens seemed to read his mind. 
 
 “Buck, my old daddy used to say thet I was 
 bom to be hanged. But I wasn’t — an’ dyin’ with 
 your boots on is the next wust way to croak.” 
 
 “You’ve a chance to — to get over this,” said 
 Duane. 
 
 “Shore. But I want to be correct about the 
 boots — an’ say, pard, if I do go over, jest you remem- 
 ber thet I was appreciatin’ of your kindness.” 
 
 33 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 Then he closed his eyes and seemed to deep. 
 
 Duane could not find water for the horses, but 
 there was an abundance of dew - wet grass upon 
 which he hobbled them. After that was done he 
 prepared himself a much -needed meal. The sun 
 was getting warm when he lay down to sleep, and 
 when he awoke it was sinking in the west. Stevens 
 was still alive, for he breathed heavily. The horses 
 were in sight. All was quiet except the hum of in- 
 sects in the brush. Duane listened awhile, then rose 
 and went for the horses. 
 
 When he returned with them he found Stevens 
 awake, bright-eyed, cheerful as usual, and appar- 
 ently stronger. 
 
 “Wal, Buck, I’m still with you an’ good fer an- 
 other night’s ride,” he said. “Guess about all I 
 need now is a big pull on thet bottle. Help me, will 
 you? There! thet was bully. I ain’t swallowin’ 
 my blood this evenin’. Mebbe I’ve bled all there 
 was in me.” 
 
 While Duane got a hurried meal for himself, 
 packed up the little outfit, and saddled the horses 
 Stevens kept on talking. He seemed to be in a 
 hurry to tell Duane all about the country. Another 
 night ride would put them beyond fear of pursuit, 
 within striking distance of the Rio Grande and the 
 •hiding-places of the outlaws. 
 
 When it came time for mounting the horses 
 Stevens said, “Reckon you can pull on my boots 
 once more.” In spite of the laugh accompanying 
 the words Duane detected a subtle change in the 
 outlaw’s spirit. 
 
 On this night travel was facilitated by the fact 
 
 34 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 that the trail was broad enough for two horses 
 abreast, enabling Duane to ride while upholding 
 Stevens in the saddle. 
 
 The difficulty most persistent was in keeping the 
 horses in a walk. They were used to a trot, and 
 that kind of gait would not do for Stevens. The 
 red died out of the west ; a pale afterglow prevailed 
 for a while; darkness set in; then the broad expanse 
 of blue darkened and the stars brightened. After 
 a while Stevens ceased talking and drooped in his 
 saddle. Duane kept the horses going, however, and 
 the slow hours wore away. Duane thought the 
 quiet night would never break to dawn, that there 
 was no end to the melancholy, brooding plain. But 
 at length a grayness blotted out the stars and mantled 
 the level of mesquite and cactus. 
 
 Dawn caught the fugitives at a green camping- 
 site on the bank of a rocky little stream. Stevens 
 fell a dead weight into Duane’s arms, and one look 
 at the haggard face showed Duane that the outlaw 
 had taken his last ride. He knew it, too. Yet 
 that cheerfulness prevailed. 
 
 “Buck, my feet are orful tired packin’ them heavy 
 boots,” he said, and seemed immensely relieved 
 when Duane had removed them. 
 
 This matter of the outlaw's boots was strange, 
 Duane thought. He made Stevens as comfortable 
 as possible, then attended to his own needs. And 
 the outlaw took up the thread of his conversation 
 where he had left off the night before. 
 
 “This trail splits up a ways from here, an’ every 
 branch of it leads to a hole where you’ll find men — 
 a few, mebbe, like yourself — some like me — an* 
 
 35 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 gangs of no-good hoss-thieves, rustlers, an’ such. 
 It’s easy livin’, Buck. I reckon, though, that you’ll 
 not find it easy. You’ll never mix in. You’ll be a 
 lone wolf. I seen that right off. Wal, if a man can 
 stand the loneliness, an’ if he’s quick on the draw, 
 mebbe lone-wolfin’ it is the best. Shore I don’t 
 know. But these fellers in here will be suspicious 
 of a man who goes it alone. If they get a chance 
 they’ll kill you.” 
 
 Stevens asked for water several times. He had 
 forgotten or he did not want the whisky. His voice 
 grew perceptibly weaker. 
 
 “Be quiet,” said Duane. “Talking uses up your 
 strength.” 
 
 “Aw, I’ll talk till — I’m done,” he replied, dogged- 
 ly. “See here, pard, you can gamble on what I’m 
 tellin’ you. An’ it ’ll be useful. From this camp 
 we’ll — you’ll meet men right along. An’ none of 
 them will be honest men. All the same, some are 
 better ’n others. I’ve lived along the river fer twelve 
 years. There’s three big gangs of outlaws. King 
 Fisher — you know him, I reckon, fer he’s half the 
 time livin’ among respectable folks. King is a 
 pretty good feller. It ’ll do to tie up with him an’ 
 his gang. Now, there’s Cheseldine, who hangs out 
 in the Rim Rock way up the river. He’s an outlaw 
 chief. I never seen him, though I stayed once right 
 in his camp. Late years he’s got rich an’ keeps back 
 pretty well hid. But Bland — I knowed Bland fer 
 years. An’ I haven’t any use fer him. Bland has 
 the biggest gang. You ain’t likely to miss strikin’ 
 his place sometime or other. He’s got a regular 
 town, I might say. Shore there’s some gamblin’ an’ 
 
 36 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 gun-fightin’ goin’ on at Bland’s camp all the time. 
 Bland has killed some twenty men, an’ thet’s not 
 countin’ greasers.” 
 
 Here Stevens took another drink and then rested 
 for a while. 
 
 ‘‘You ain’t likely to get on with Bland,” he re- 
 sumed, presently. “You’re too strappin’ big an’ 
 good-lookin’ to please the chief. Fer he’s got women 
 in his camp. Then he’d be jealous of your possi- 
 bilities with a gun. Shore I reckon he’d be careful, 
 though. Bland’s no fool, an’ he loves his hide. I 
 reckon any of the other gangs would be better fer 
 you when you ain’t goin’ it alone.” 
 
 Apparently that exhausted the fund of informa 
 tion and advice Stevens had been eager to impart. 
 He lapsed into silence and lay with closed eyes. 
 Meanwhile the sun rose warm; the breeze waved the 
 mesquites; the birds came down to splash in the 
 shallow stream ; Duane dozed in a comfortable 
 seat. By and by something roused him. Ste- 
 vens was once more talking, but with a changed 
 tone. 
 
 “Feller’s name — was Brown,” he rambled. “We 
 fell out — over a hoss I stole from him — in Hunts- 
 ville. He stole it fust. Brown’s one of them sneaks 
 — afraid of the open — he steals an’ pretends to be 
 honest. Say, Buck, mebbe you’ll meet Brown some 
 day — You an’ me are pards now.” 
 
 “I’ll remember, if I ever meet him,” said Duane. 
 
 That seemed to satisfy the outlaw. Presently he 
 tried to lift his head, but had not the strength. A 
 strange shade was creeping across the bronzed rough 
 face. 
 
 37 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “My feet are pretty heavy. Shore you got my 
 boots off?” 
 
 Duane held them up, but was not certain that 
 Stevens could see them. The outlaw closed his 
 eyes again and muttered incoherently. Then he 
 fell asleep. Duane believed that sleep was final. 
 The day passed, with Duane watching and wait- 
 ing. Toward sundown Stevens awoke, and his eyes 
 seemed clearer. Duane went to get some fresh 
 water, thinking his comrade would surely want some. 
 When he returned Stevens made no sign that he 
 wanted anything. There was something bright 
 about him, and suddenly Duane realized what it 
 meant. 
 
 “Pard, you — stuck — to me!” the outlaw whis- 
 pered. 
 
 Duane caught a hint of gladness in the voice; 
 he traced a faint surprise in the haggard face. 
 Stevens seemed like a little child. 
 
 To Duane the moment was sad, elemental, big, 
 with a burden of mystery he could not understand. 
 
 Duane buried him in a shallow arroyo and heaped 
 up a pile of stones to mark the grave. That done, 
 he saddled his comrade’s horse, hung the weapons 
 over the pommel; and, mounting his own steed, he 
 rode down the trail in the gathering twilight- 
 
 * 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 T WO days later, about the middle of the fore- 
 noon, 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, moun- 
 tainous barren of Mexico stretching to the south. 
 
 Duane had not fallen in with any travelers. He 
 had taken the likeliest-looking trail he had come 
 across. Where it had led him he had not the slight- 
 est idea, except that here was the river, and prob- 
 ably the inclosed valley was the retreat of some 
 famous outlaw. 
 
 No wonder outlaws were safe in that wild refuge f 
 Duane had spent the last two days climbing the 
 roughest and most difficult trail he had ever seen. 
 
 I From the looks of the descent he imagined the 
 worst part of his travel was yet to come. Not im- 
 probably it was two thousand feet down to the 
 river. The wedge-shaped valley, green with alfalfa 
 and cottonwood, and nestling down amid the bare 
 walls of yellow rock, was a delight and a relief to 
 his tired eyes. Eager to get down to a level and to 
 find a place to rest, Duane began the descent. 
 
 The trail proved to be the kind that could not be 
 descended slowly. He kept dodging rocks which 
 
 39 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 his horses loosed behind him. And in a short time 
 he reached the valley, entering at the apex of the 
 wedge. A stream of clear water tumbled out of 
 the rocks here, and most of it ran into irrigation- 
 ditches. His horses drank thirstily. And he drank 
 with that fullness and gratefulness common to 
 the desert traveler finding sweet water. Then he 
 mounted and rode down the valley wondering what 
 would be his reception. 
 
 The valley was much larger than it had appeared 
 from the high elevation. Well watered, green with 
 grass and tree, and farmed evidently by good hands, 
 it gave Duane a considerable surprise. Horses and 
 cattle we re everywhere. Every clump of cotton- 
 woods surrounded a small adobe house. Duane saw 
 Mexicans working in the fields and horsemen going 
 to and fro. Presently he passed a house bigger than 
 the others with a porch attached. A woman, young 
 and pretty he thought, watched him from a door. 
 No one else appeared to notice him. 
 
 Presently the trail widened into a road, and that 
 into a kind of square lined by a number of adobe 
 and log buildings of rudest structure. Within sight 
 were horses, dogs, a couple of steers, Mexican women 
 with children, and white men, all of whom appeared 
 to be doing nothing. His advent created no in- 
 terest until he rode up to the white men, who were 
 lolling in the shade of a house. This place evidently 
 was a store and saloon, and from the inside came a 
 lazy hum of voices. 
 
 As Duane reined to a halt one of the loungers in 
 the shade rose with a loud exclamation: 
 
 “Bust me if thet ain’t Luke’s hoss!” 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 The others accorded their interest, if not assent, 
 by rising to advance toward Duane. 
 
 “How about it, Euchre? Ain’t thet Luke’s bay?” 
 queried the first man. 
 
 “Plain as your nose,” replied the fellow called 
 Euchre. 
 
 “There ain’t no doubt about thet, then,” laughed 
 another, “fer Bosomer’s nose is shore plain on the 
 landscape.” 
 
 These men lined up before Duane, and as he coolly 
 regarded them he thought they could have been 
 recognized anywhere as desperadoes. The man 
 called Bosomer, who had stepped forward, had a 
 forbidding face which showed yellow eyes, an enor- 
 mous nose, and a skin the color of dust, with a thatch 
 of sandy hair. 
 
 “Stranger, who are you an’ where in the hell did 
 you git thet bay hoss?” he demanded. His yellow 
 eyes took in Stevens’s horse, then the weapons hung 
 on the saddle, and finally turned their glinting, hard 
 light upward to Duane. 
 
 Duane did not like the tone in which he had been 
 addressed, and he remained silent. At least half 
 his mind seemed busy with curious interest in re- 
 gard to something that leaped inside him and made 
 his breast feel tight. He recognized it as that 
 strange emotion which had shot through him often 
 of late, and which had decided him to go out to 
 the meeting with Bain. Only now it was different, 
 more powerful. 
 
 “Stranger, who are you?” asked another man, 
 somewhat more civilly. 
 
 “My name’s Duane,” replied Duane, curtly. 
 
 41 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “An’ how’d you come by the hoss?” 
 
 Duane answered briefly, and his words were fol- 
 lowed by a short silence, during which the men 
 looked at him. Bosomer began to twist the ends of 
 
 his beard. 
 
 “Reckon he’s dead, all right, or nobody’d hev his 
 koss an’ guns,” presently said Euchre. 
 
 “Mister Duane,” began Bosomer, in low, stinging 
 tones, “I happen to be Luke Stevens’s side-pardner.” 
 
 Duane looked him over, from dusty, worn-out 
 boots to his slouchy sombrero. That look seemed 
 to inflame Bosomer. 
 
 “An’ I want the hoss an’ them guns,” he shouted. 
 
 “You or anybody else can have them, for all I 
 care. I just fetched them in. But the pack is 
 mine,” replied Duane. “And say, I befriended 
 your pard. If you can’t use a civil tongue you’d 
 better cinch it.” 
 
 “Civil? Haw, haw!” rejoined the outlaw. “I 
 don’t know you. How do we know you didn’t plug 
 Stevens, an’ stole his hoss, an’ jest happened to 
 stumble down here?” 
 
 “You’ll have to take my word, that’s all,” replied 
 Duane, sharply. 
 
 “ ! I ain’t takin’ your word! Savvy 
 
 thet? An’ I was Luke’s pard!” 
 
 With that Bosomer wheeled and, pushing his com- 
 panions aside, he stamped into the saloon, where his 
 voice broke out in a roar. 
 
 Duane dismounted and threw his bridle. 
 
 “Stranger, Bosomer is shore hot-headed,” said 
 the man Euchre. He did not appear unfriendly, 
 nor were the others hostile. 
 
 42 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 At this juncture several more outlaws crowded 
 out of the door, and the one in the lead was a tall 
 man of stalwart physique. His manner proclaimed 
 him a, leader. He had a long face, a flaming red 
 beard, and clear, cold blue eyes that fixed in close 
 scrutiny upon Duane. He was not a Texan; in 
 truth, Duane did not recognize one of these outlaws 
 as native to his state. 
 
 “I’m Bland,” said the tall man, authoritatively. 
 “Who ’re you and what ’re you doing here?” 
 Duane looked at Bland as he had at the others. 
 This outlaw chief appeared to be reasonable, if he 
 was not courteous. Duane told his story again, 
 this time a little more in detail. 
 
 “I believe you,” replied Bland, at once. “Think 
 I know when a fellow is lying.” 
 
 reckon you’re on the right trail,” put in 
 Euchre. “Thet about Luke wantin’ his boots took 
 off — thet satisfies me. Luke hed a mortal dread of 
 dyin’ with his boots on.” 
 
 At this sally the chief and his men laughed. 
 “You said Duane — Buck Duane?” queried Bland. 
 “Are you a son of that Duane who was a gun- 
 fighter some years back?” 
 
 “Yes,” replied Duane. 
 
 “Never met him, and glad I didn’t,” said Bland, 
 with a grim humor. “So you got in trouble and 
 had to go on the dodge? What kind of trouble?” 
 “Had a fight.” 
 
 “Fight? Do you mean gun -play?” questioned 
 Bland. He seemed eager, curious, speculative. 
 
 “Yes. It ended in gun-play, I’m sorry to say,” 
 answered, Duane. 
 
 4 
 
 4 ? 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “Guess I needn’t ask the son of Duane if he killed 
 his man,’’ went on Bland, ironically. “Well, I’m 
 sorry you bucked against trouble in my camp. But 
 as it is, I guess you’d be wise to make yourself scarce.” 
 
 “Do you mean I’m politely told to move on?” 
 asked Duane, quietly. 
 
 “Not exactly that,” said Bland, as if irritated. 
 “If this isn’t a free place there isn’t one on earth. 
 Every man is equal here. Do you want to join my 
 band?” 
 
 “No, I don’t.” 
 
 “Well, even if you did I imagine that wouldn’t 
 stop Bosomer. He’s an ugly fellow. He’s one of 
 the few gunmen I’ve met who wants to kill some- 
 body all the time. Most men like that are four- 
 flushes. 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 rhe short while he had spent inside the 
 saloon had been devoted to drinking and talking 
 himself into a frenzy. Bland and the other outlaws 
 quickly moved aside, letting Duane stand alone. 
 When Bosomer saw Duane standing motionless and 
 watchful a strange change passed quickly in him. 
 He halted in his tracks, and as he did that the men 
 who had followed him out piled over one another 
 in their hurry to get to one side. 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 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 al- 
 most as if this situation had been one long familiar 
 to him. Somehow he understood this yellow-eyed 
 Bosomer. The outlaw had come out to kill him. 
 And now, though somewhat checked by the stand 
 of a stranger, he still meant to kill. Like so many 
 desperadoes of his ilk, he was victim of a passion 
 to kill for the sake of killing. Duane divined that 
 no sudden animosity was driving Bosomer. It was 
 just his chance. In that moment murder would have 
 been joy to him. Very likely he had forgotten his pre- 
 text for a quarrel. Very probably his faculties were 
 absorbed in conjecture as to Duane’s possibilities. 
 
 But he did not speak a word. He remained mo- 
 tionless for a long moment, his eyes pale and steady, 
 his right hand like a claw. 
 
 That instant gave Duane a power to read in his 
 enemy’s eyes the thought that preceded action. 
 But Duane did not want to kill another man. Still 
 he would have to fight, and he decided to cripple 
 Bosomer. When Bosomer’s hand moved Duane’s 
 gun was spouting fire. Two shots only — both from 
 Duane’s gun — and the outlaw fell with his right arm 
 shattered. Bosomer cursed harshly and floundered 
 in the dust, trying to reach the gun with his left 
 hand. His comrades, however, seeing that Duane 
 would not kill unless forced, closed in upon Bosomer 
 and prevented any further madness on his part. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 O P 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, gather- 
 ing up Stevens’s weapons, he invited his visitor to 
 enter the house. 
 
 It had two rooms — windows without coverings — 
 bar Q floors. One room contained blankets, weapons, 
 saddles, and bridles; the other a stone fireplace, rude 
 table and bench, two bunks, a box cupboard, and 
 various blackened utensils. 
 
 “Make yourself to home as long as you want to 
 stay,” said Euchre. “I ain’t rich in this world’s 
 goods, but I own what’s here, an’ you’re welcome.” 
 “Thanks. I’ll stay awhile and rest. I’m pretty 
 well played out,” replied Duane. 
 
 Euchre gave him a keen glance. 
 
 “Go ahead an’ rest. I’ll take your horses to 
 grass.” 
 
 Euchre left Duane alone in the house. Duane re- 
 laxed 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, 
 
 46 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 And he had a thought tha t if he rested or slept what 
 difference would it make on the morrow? No rest, 
 no sleep could change the gray outlook of the future. 
 He felt glad when Euchre came bustling in, and for 
 the first time he took notice of the outlaw. 
 
 Euchre was old in years. What little hair he had 
 was gray, his face clean-shaven and full of wrinkles; 
 his eyes were half shut from long gazing through the 
 sun and dust He stooped. But his thin frame de- 
 noted strength and endurance still unimpaired. 
 
 “Hev a drink or a smoke?” he asked. 
 
 Duane shook his head. He had not been unfamil- 
 iar with whisky, and he had used tobacco moderate- 
 ly 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, some- 
 thing that made him fear himself. 
 
 Euchre wagged his old head sympathetically. 
 “Reckon you feel a little sick. When it comes to 
 shootin’ I run. What’s your age?” 
 
 “I’m twenty-three,” replied Duane. 
 
 Euchre showed surprise. “You’re only a boy! I 
 thought you thirty anyways. Buck, I heard what 
 you told Bland, an’ puttin’ thet with my own figger- 
 in’, I reckon you’re no criminal yet. Throwin’ a 
 gun in self-defense — thet ain’t no crime!” 
 
 Duane, finding relief in talking, told more about 
 himself. 
 
 “Huh,” replied the old man. “I’ve been on this 
 river fer years, an’ I’ve seen hundreds of boys come 
 in on tlie dodge. Most of them, though, was no 
 good. An’ thet kind don’t last long. This river 
 
 47 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 country has been an’ is the refuge fer criminals from 
 all over the states. I’ve bunked with bank cashiers, 
 forgers, plain thieves, an’ out-an’-out murderers, all 
 oi which had no bizness on the Texas border. Fel- 
 lers like Bland are exceptions. He’s no Texan — you 
 seen thet. The gang he rules here come from all 
 over, an’ they’re tough cusses, you can bet on thet. 
 They live fat an’ easy. If it wasn’t fer the fightin’ 
 among themselves they’d shore grow populous. 
 The Rim Rock is no place for a peaceable, decent 
 feller. I heard you tell Bland you wouldn’t join 
 his gang. Thet ’ll not make him take a likin’ to you. 
 Have you any money?” 
 
 “Not much,” replied Duane. 
 
 “Could you live by gamblin’? Are you any good 
 at cards?” 
 
 “No.” 
 
 “You wouldn’t steal hosses or rustle cattle?” 
 
 “No.” 
 
 “When your money’s gone how ’n hell will you 
 live? There ain’t any work a decent feller could do. 
 You can’t herd with greasers. Why, Bland’s men 
 would shoot at you in the fields. What ’ll you do, 
 son?” 
 
 “God knows,” replied Duane, hopelessly. “I’ll 
 make my money last as long as possible — then 
 starve.” 
 
 “Wal, I’m pretty pore, but you’ll never starve 
 while I got anythin’.” 
 
 Here it struck Duane again — that something hu- 
 man 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 vir- 
 
 48 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 tues. To him, as to the outside world, they had 
 been merely vicious men without one redeeming 
 feature. 
 
 “I’m much obliged to you, Euchre,” replied 
 Duane. “But of course I won’t live with any one 
 unless I can pay my share.” 
 
 “Have it any way you like, my son,” said Euchre, 
 good-humoredly. “You make a fire, an’ I’ll set about 
 gettin’ grub. I’m a sour-dough, Buck. Thet man 
 doesn’t live who can beat my bread.” 
 
 “How do you ever pack supplies in here?” asked 
 Duane, thinking of the almost inaccessible nature 
 of the valley. 
 
 “Some comes across from Mexico, an’ the rest 
 down the river. Thet river trip is a bird. It’s 
 more’n five hundred miles to any supply point. 
 Bland has mozos, greaser boatmen. Sometimes, too, 
 he gets supplies in from down-river. You see, 
 Bland sells thousands of cattle in Cuba. An’ all 
 this stock has to go down by boat to meet the 
 ships.” 
 
 “Where on earth are the cattle driven down to 
 the river?” asked Duane. 
 
 “Thet’s not my secret,” replied Euchre, shortly. 
 “Fact is, I don’t know. I’ve rustled cattle for 
 Bland, but he never sent me through the Rim Rock 
 with them.” 
 
 Duane experienced a sort of pleasure in the realiza- 
 tion 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 for- 
 
 49 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 get, and enjoyed helping in the preparation and 
 eating of the meal. Euchre, after washing and hang- 
 ing up the several utensils, put on his hat and turned 
 to go out. 
 
 “Come along or stay here, as you want,” he said 
 to Duane. 
 
 “I’ll stay,” rejoined Duane, slowly. 
 
 The old outlaw left the room and trudged away, 
 whistling cheerfully. 
 
 Duane looked around him for a book or paper, 
 anything to read ; but all the printed matter he could 
 find consisted of a few words on cartridge-boxes 
 and an advertisement on the back of a tobacco- 
 pouch. There seemed to be nothing for him to do. 
 He had rested; he did not want to lie down any 
 more. He began to walk to and fro, from one end 
 of the room to the other. And as he walked he 
 fell into the lately acquired habit of brooding over 
 his misfortune. 
 
 Suddenly he straightened up with a jerk. Un- 
 consciously he had drawr 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 back- 
 ward, 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 hare 
 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 
 
 50 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 live burned strong in him. If he had been as un- 
 fortunately situated, but with the difference that no 
 man wanted to put him in jail or take his life, he felt 
 that this burning passion to be free, to save himself, 
 might not have been so powerful. Life certainly 
 held no bright prospects for him. Already he had 
 begun to despair of ever getting back to his home. 
 But to give up like a white-hearted coward, to let 
 himself be handcuffed and jailed, to run from a 
 drunken, bragging cowboy, or be shot in cold blood 
 by some border brute who merely wanted to add 
 another notch to his gun — these things were im- 
 possible 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 discon- 
 tinued — the draw. It was now a stern, bitter, 
 deadly business with him. He did not need to fire 
 the gun, for accuracy was a gift and had become 
 assured. Swiftness on the draw, however, could be 
 improved, and he set himself to acquire the limit of 
 speed possible to any man. He stood still in his 
 tracks; he paced the room; he sat down, lay down, 
 put himself in awkward positions; and from every 
 position he practised throwing his gun — practised 
 it till he was hot and tired and his arm ached and 
 his hand burned. That practice he determined to 
 keep up every day. It was one thing, at least, that 
 would help pass the weary hours. 
 
 Later he went outdoors to the cooler shade of the 
 cottonwoods. From this point he could see a good 
 deal of the valley. Under different circumstances 
 
 5i 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 Duane felt that he would have enjoyed such a beau- 
 tiful 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 settlement. He saw a good many 
 Mexicans, who, of course, were hand and glove with 
 Bland. Also he saw enormous flat-boats, crude of 
 structure, moored along the banks of the river. 
 The Rio Grande rolled away between high bluffs. 
 A cable, sagging deep in the middle, was stretched 
 over the wide yellow stream, and an old scow, evi- 
 dently used as a ferry, lay anchored on the far 
 shore. 
 
 The valley was an ideal retreat for an outlaw 
 band operating on a big scale. Pursuit scarcely 
 need be feared over the broken trails of the Rim 
 Rock. And the open end of the valley could be 
 defended against almost any number of men coming 
 down the river. Access to Mexico was easy and 
 quick. What puzzled Duane was how Bland got 
 cattle down to the river, and he wondered if the 
 rustler really did get rid of his stolen stock by use 
 of boats. 
 
 Duane must have idled considerable time up on 
 the hill, for when he returned to the shack Euchre 
 was busily engaged around the camp-fire. 
 
 “Wal, glad to see you ain’t so pale about the gills 
 as you was,” he said, by way of greeting. “Pitch 
 in an’ we’ll soon have grub ready. There’s shore 
 one consolin’ fact round this here camp.” 
 
 “What’s that?” asked Duane. 
 
 “Plenty of good juicy beef to eat. An' it doesn’t 
 cost a short bit.” 
 
 52 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “But it costs hard rides and trouble, bad con* 
 science, and life, too, doesn’t it?” 
 
 “I ain’t shore about the bad conscience. Mine 
 never bothered me none. An’ as for life, why, thet’s 
 cheap in Texas.” 
 
 “Who is Bland?” asked Duane, quickly changing 
 the subject. “What do you know about him?” 
 “We don’t know who he is or where he -hails 
 from,” replied Euchre. “Thet’s always been some- 
 thin’ to interest the gang. Pie must have been a 
 young man when he struck Texas. Now he’s mid- 
 dle-aged. I remember how years ago he was soft- 
 spoken an’ not rough in talk or act like he is now. 
 Bland ain’t likely his right name. He knows a lot. 
 He can doctor you, an’ he’s shore a knowin’ feller 
 with tools. He’s the kind thet rules men. Outlaws 
 are always ridin’ in here to join his gang, an’ if it 
 hadn’t been fer the gamblin’ an’ gun-play he’d have 
 a thousand men around him.” 
 
 “How many in his gang now?” 
 
 “I reckon there’s short of a hundred now. The 
 number Varies. Then Bland has several small 
 camps up an’ down the river. Also he has men 
 back on the cattle-ranges.” 
 
 “How does he control such a big force?” asked 
 Duane, ''‘Especially when his band’s composed of 
 bad men, Luke Stevens said he had no use for 
 Bland. And I heard once somewhere that Bland 
 was a devil.” 
 
 “The--’« it. He is a devil. He’s as hard as flint, 
 violent temper, never made any friends except 
 his righ^-hand men, Dave Rugg an’ Chess Alloway. 
 Bland ’ll shoot at a wink. He’s killed a lot of fel- 
 
 53 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 lers, 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 some- 
 where, an’ lots of gold. But he’s free with money. 
 He gambles when he’s not off with a shipment of 
 cattle. He throws money around. An’ the fact is 
 there’s always plenty of money where he is. Thet’s 
 what holds the gang. Dirty, bloody money!” 
 
 “It’s a wonder he hasn’t been killed. All these 
 years on the border!” exclaimed Duane. 
 
 “Wal,” replied Euchre, dryly, “he’s been quicker 
 on the draw than the other fellers who hankered to 
 kill him, thet’s all.” 
 
 Euchre’s reply rather chilled Duane’s interest for 
 the moment. Such remarks always made his mind 
 revolve round facts pertaining to himself. 
 
 “Speakin’ of this here swift wrist game,” went on 
 Euchre, “there’s been considerable talk in camp 
 about your thro win’ of a gun. You know, Buck, 
 thet among us fellers — us hunted men — there ain’t 
 anythin’ calculated to rouse respect like a slick 
 hand with a gun. I heard Bland say this after- 
 noon — an’ he said it serious-like an’ speculative — 
 thet he’d never seen your equal. He was watchin’ of 
 you close, he said, an’ just couldn’t follow your hand 
 when you drawed. All the fellers who seen you 
 meet Bosomer had somethin’ to say. Bo was about 
 as handy with a gun as any man in this camp, 
 barrin’ Chess Alloway an’ mebbe Bland himself. 
 Chess is the captain with a Colt — or he was. An’ 
 he shore didn’t like the references made about your 
 speed. Bland was honest in acknowledgin’ it, but 
 
 54 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 ne didn’t like it, neither. Some of the fellers al- 
 lowed 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 gun- 
 scrape over at Santone, years ago. Wal, I put my 
 oar in to-day among the fellers, an’ I says: ‘What 
 ails you locoed gents? Did young Duane budge an 
 inch when Bo came roarin’ out, blood in his eye? 
 Wasn’t he cool an’ quiet, steady of lips, an’ weren’t 
 his eyes readin’ Bo’s mind? An’ thet lightnin’ 
 draw — can’t you-all see thet’s a family gift?’” 
 
 Euchre’s narrow eyes twinkled, and he gave the 
 dough he was rolling a slap with his flour-whitened 
 hand. Manifestly he had proclaimed himself a 
 champion and partner of Duane’s, with all the pride 
 an old man could feel in a young one whom he 
 admired. 
 
 “Wal,” he resumed, presently, “thet’s your intro- 
 duction to the border, Buck. An’ your card was a 
 high trump. You’ll be let severely alone by real 
 gun-fighters an’ men like Bland, Alloway, Rugg, 
 an’ the bosses of the other gangs. After all, these 
 real men are men, you know, an’ onless you cross 
 them they’re no more likely to interfere with you 
 than you are with them. But there’s a sight of 
 fellers like Bosomer in the river country. They’ll 
 all want your game. An’ every town you ride into 
 will scare up some cowpuncher full of booze or a 
 long-haired four-flush gunman or a sheriff — an’ 
 these men will be playin’ to the crowd an’ yellin’ 
 for your blood. Thet’s the Texas of it. You’ll have 
 to hide fer ever in the brakes or you’ll have to kill 
 
 55 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 such men. Buck, I reckon this ain’t cheerful news 
 to a decent chap like you. I’m only tellin’ you be- 
 cause I’ve taken a likin’ to you, an’ I seen right off 
 thet you ain’t border - wise. Let’s eat now, an’ 
 afterward w r e’ll go out so the gang can see you’re 
 not hidin’.” 
 
 When Duane went out with Euchre the sun was 
 setting behind a blue range of mountains across the 
 river in Mexico. The valley appeared to open to 
 the southwest. It was a tranquil, beautiful scene. 
 Somewhere in a house near at hand a woman was 
 singing. And in the road Duane saw a little Mexi- 
 can boy driving home some cows, one of which wore 
 a bell. The sweet, happy voice of a woman and a 
 whistling barefoot boy — these seemed utterly out of 
 place here. 
 
 Euchre presently led to the square and the row 
 of rough houses Duane remembered. He almost 
 stepped on a wide imprint in the dust where Bosomer 
 had confronted him. And a sudden fury beset him 
 that he should be affected strangely by the sight of it. 
 
 “Let’s have a look in here,” said Euchre. 
 
 Duane had to bend his head to enter the door. 
 He found himself in a very large room inclosed by 
 adobe walls and roofed with brush. It was full of 
 rude benches, tables, seats. At one comer a num- 
 ber of kegs and barrels lay side by side in a rack. 
 A Mexican boy was lighting lamps hung on posts 
 that sustained the log rafters of the roof. 
 
 “The only feller who’s goin’ to put a close eye on 
 you is Benson,” said Euchre. “He runs the place 
 an’ sells drinks. The gang calls him Jackrabbit 
 
 56 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 Benson, because he’s always got his eye peeled an’ 
 his ear cocked. Don’t notice him if he looks you 
 over, Buck. Benson is scared to death of every 
 new-comer who rustles into Bland’s camp. An’ 
 the reason, I take it, is because he’s done somebody 
 dirt. He’s hidin’. Not from a sheriff or ranger! 
 Men who hide from them don’t act like Jackrabbit 
 Benson. He’s hidin’ from some guy who’s huntin’ 
 him to kill him. Wal, I’m always expectin’ to see 
 some feller ride in here an’ throw a gun on Benson. 
 Can’t say I’d be grieved.” 
 
 Duane casually glanced in the direction indicated, 
 and he saw a spare, gaunt man with a face strikingly 
 white beside the red and bronze and dark skins of 
 the men around him. It was a cadaverous face. 
 The black mustache hung down; a heavy lock of 
 black hair dropped down over the brow; deep-set, 
 hollow, staring eyes looked out piercingly. The 
 man had a restless, alert, nervous manner. He put 
 his hands on the board that served as a bar and 
 stared at Duar«. But when he met Duane’s glance 
 he turned hurriedly to go on serving out liquor. 
 
 “What have you got against him?” inquired 
 Duane, as he sat down beside Euchre. He asked 
 more for something to say than from real interest. 
 What did he care about a mean, haunted, craven- 
 faced criminal? 
 
 “Wal, mebbe I’m cross-grained,” replied Euchre, 
 apologetically. “Shore an outlaw an’ rustler such 
 as me can’t be touchy. But I never stole nothin' 
 but cattle from some rancher who never missed ’em 
 anyway. Thet sneak Benson — he was the means of 
 puttin’ a little girl in Bland’s way.” 
 
 57 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “Girl?” queried Duane, now with real attention. 
 
 “Shore. Bland’s great on women. I’ll tell you 
 about this girl when we get out of here. Some of 
 the gang are goin’ to be sociable, an’ I can’t talk 
 about the chief.” 
 
 During the ensuing half-hour a number of out- 
 laws passed by Duane and Euchre, halted for a greet- 
 ing or sat down for a moment. They were all gruff, 
 loud-voiced, merry, and good-natured. Duane re- 
 plied 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 out- 
 law borrowed money from him: another asked for 
 tobacco. 
 
 By the time it was dark the big room was full of 
 outlaws and Mexicans, most of whom were engaged 
 at monte. These gamblers, especially the Mexicans, 
 were intense and quiet. The noise in the place came 
 from the drinkers, the loungers. Duane had seen 
 gambling-resorts — some of the famous ones in San 
 Antonio and El Paso, a few in border towns where 
 license went unchecked. But this place of Jack- 
 rabbit Benson’s impressed him as one where guns 
 and knives were accessories to the game. To his 
 perhaps rather distinguishing eye the most promi- 
 nent thing about the gamesters appeared to be their 
 weapons. On several of the tables were piles of 
 silver — Mexican pesos — as large and high as the 
 crown of his hat. There were also piles of gold and 
 silver in United States coin. Duane needed no 
 
 58 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 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 grudg- 
 ing, sullen, greedy eyes. Boisterous talk and laugh- 
 ter 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 dol- 
 lars while he studied his opponent’s face. The 
 noises, however, in Benson’s den did not contribute 
 to any extent to the sinister aspect of the place. 
 That seemed to come from the grim and reckless 
 faces, from the bent, intent heads, from the dark 
 lights and shades. There were bright lights, but 
 these served only to make the shadows. And in 
 the shadows lurked unrestrained lust of gain, a spirit 
 ruthless and reckless, a something at once suggesting 
 lawlessness, theft, murder, and hell. 
 
 “Bland’s not here to-night,” Euchre was saying. 
 “He left to-day on one of his trips, takin’ Alloway 
 an’ some others. Btit his other man, Rugg, he’s 
 here. See him standin’ with them three fellers, all 
 close to Benson. Rugg’s the little bow-legged man 
 with the half of his face shot off. He’s one-eyed. 
 But he can shore see out of the one he’s got. An ! , 
 darn me! there’s Hardin. You know him? He’s 
 § 59 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 got an outlaw gang as big as Bland’s. Hardin is 
 standin’ next to Benson. See how quiet an’ unas- 
 sumin’ he looks. Yes, thet’s Hardin. He comes 
 here once in a while to see Bland. They’re friends, 
 which ’s shore strange. Do you see thet greaser 
 there — the one with gold an’ lace on his sombrero? 
 Thet’s Manuel, a Mexican bandit. He’s a great 
 gambler. Co nes here often to drop his coin. Next 
 to him is Bui Marr — the feller with the bandana 
 round his head. Bill rode in the othe” day with 
 some fresh bullet-holes. He’s been shot more’n any 
 feller I ever heard of. He’s full of lead. Funny, 
 because Bill’s no trouble-hunter, an’, like me, he’d 
 rather run than shoot. But he’s the best rustler 
 Bland’s got — a grand rider, an’ a wonder with 
 cattle. An’ see the tow-headed youngster. Thet’s 
 Kid Fuller, the kid of Bland’s gang. Fuller has hit 
 the pace hard, an’ he won’t last the year out on the 
 border. He killed his sweetheart’s father, got run 
 out of Staceytown, took to stealin’ hosses. An’ next 
 he’s here with Bland. Another boy gone wrong, 
 an’ now shore a hard nut.” 
 
 Euchre went on calling Duane’s attention to other 
 men, just as he happened to glance over them. Any 
 one of them would have been a marked man in a 
 respectable crowd. Here each took his place with 
 more or less distinction, according to the record of 
 his past wild prowess and his 1 present possibilities. 
 Duane, realizing that he was tolerated there, re- 
 ceived 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 
 
 60 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 such ruffians? Then in a flash of memory came the 
 painful proof — he was a criminal in sight of Texas 
 law; he, too, was an outcast. 
 
 For the moment Duane was wrapped up in pain- 
 ful reflections: but Euchre’s heavy hand, clapping 
 with a warning hold on his arm, brought him back 
 to outside things. 
 
 The hum of voices, the clink of coin, the loud 
 laughter had ceased. There was a silence that man- 
 ifestly had followed some unusual word or action 
 sufficient to still the room. It was broken by a 
 harsh curse and the scrape of a bench on the floor. 
 Some man had risen. 
 
 /‘You stacked the cards, you !” 
 
 “Say that twice,” another voice replied, so dif- 
 ferent in its cool, ominous tone from the other. 
 
 “I’ll say it twice,” returned the first gamester, 
 in hot haste. “I’ll say it three times. I’ll whistle 
 it. Are you deaf? You light-fingered gent! You 
 stacked the cards!” 
 
 Silence ensued, deeper than before, pregnant with 
 meaning. For all that Duane saw, not an outlaw 
 moved for a full moment. Then suddenly the room 
 was full of disorder as men rose and ran and dived 
 everywhere. 
 
 “Run or duck!” yelled Euchre, close to Duane’s 
 ear. With that he dashed for the door. Duane 
 leaped after him. They ran into a jostling mob. 
 Heavy gun - shots and hoarse yells hurried the 
 crowd Duane was with pell - mell out into the 
 darkness. There they all halted, and several 
 peeped in at the door. 
 
 “Who was the Kid callin’?” asked one outlaw. 
 
 61 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “Bud Marsh,” replied another. 
 
 “I reckon them fust shots was Bud’s. Adios K. 3 . 
 It was cornin’ to him,” went on yet another. 
 
 “How many shots?” 
 
 “Three or four, I counted.” 
 
 “Three heavy an’ one light. Thet light one was 
 the Kid’s .38. Listen! There’s the Kid hollerin’ 
 now. He ain’t cashed, anyway.” 
 
 At this juncture most of the outlaws began to file 
 back into the room. Duane thought he had seen 
 and heard enough in Benson’s den for one night 
 and he started slowly down the walk. Presently 
 Euchre caught up with him. 
 
 “Nobody hurt much, which’s shore some strange,” 
 he said. “The Kid — young Fuller thet I was tellin’ 
 you about — he was drinkin’ an’ losin’. Lost his 
 nut, too, callin’ Bud Marsh thet way. Bud’s as 
 straight at cards as any of ’em. Somebody grabbed 
 Bud, who shot into the roof. An’ Fuller’s arm was 
 knocked up. He only hit a greaser.” 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 N EX' r morning Duane found that a moody and 
 despondent spell had fastened on him. Wish- 
 ing to be alone, he went out and walked a trail lead- 
 ing round the river bluff. He thought and thought. 
 After a while he made out that the trouble with him 
 probably was that he could not resign himself to 
 his fate. He abhorred the possibility chance seemed 
 to hold in store for him. He could not believe there 
 was no hope. But what to do appeared beyond his 
 power to tell. 
 
 Duane had intelligence and keenness enough to 
 see his peril — the danger threatening his character 
 as a man, just as much as that which threatened his 
 life. He cared vastly more, he discovered, for what 
 he considered honor and integrity than he did for 
 life. He saw that it was bad for him to be alone. 
 But, it appeared, lonely months and perhaps years 
 inevitably must be his. Another thing puzzled him. 
 In the bright light of day he could not recall the 
 state of mind that was his at twilight or dusk or in 
 the dark night. By day these visitations became 
 to him what they really were — phantoms of his 
 conscience. He could dismiss the thought of them 
 then. He could scarcely remember or believe that 
 this strange fuat of fancy or imagination had troubled 
 him, pained him, made him sleepless and sick. 
 
 63 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 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 oppor- 
 tunity now to see just what the outlaw’s life really 
 was. He meant to force himself to be curious, sym- 
 pathetic, clear-sighted. And he would stay there 
 in the valley until its possibilities had been ex- 
 hausted or until circumstances sent him out upon 
 his uncertain way. 
 
 When he returned to the shack Euchre was cook- 
 ing dinner. 
 
 “Say, Buck, I’ve news for you,” he said; and his 
 tone conveyed either pride in his possession of such 
 news or pride in Duane. “Feller named Bradley 
 rode in this mornin’. He’s heard some about you. 
 Told about the ace of spades they put over the 
 bullet-holes in thet cowpuncher Bain you plugged. 
 Then there was a rancher shot at a water-hole twenty 
 miles south of Weilston. Reckon you didn’t do it?” 
 “No, I certainly did not,” replied Duane. 
 
 “Wal, you get the blame. It ain’t nothin’ for 
 a feller to be saddled with gun-plays he never made. 
 An’, Buck, if you ever get famous, as seems likely, 
 you’ll be blamed for many a gfime. The border ’ll 
 make an outlaw an’ murderer out of you. Wal, 
 thet’s enough of thet. I’ve more news. You’re 
 goin’ to be popular.” 
 
 “Popular? What do you mean?” 
 
 “I met Bland’s wife this mornin’. She seen you 
 the other day when you rode in. She shore wants 
 to meet you, an’ so do some of the other women 
 
 64 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 in camp. They always want to meet the new fellers 
 who’ve just come in. It’s lonesome for women 
 here, an’ they like to hear news from the towns.” 
 ‘‘Well, Euchre, I don’t want to be impolite, but 
 I’d rather not meet any women,” rejoined Duane. 
 
 ‘‘I was afraid you wouldn’t. Don’t blame you 
 much. Women are hell. I was hopin’, though, 
 you might talk a little to thet poor lonesome kid.” 
 “What kid?” inquired Duane, in surprise. 
 “Didn’t I tell you about Jennie — the girl Bland’s 
 holdin’ here — the one Jackrabbit Benson had a hand 
 in stealin’?” 
 
 “You mentioned a girl. That’s all. Tell me 
 now,” replied Duane, abruptly. 
 
 “Wal, I got it this way. Mebbe it’s straight, an’ 
 mebbe it ain’t. Some years ago Benson made a 
 trip over the river to buy mescal an’ other drinks. 
 He’ll sneak over there once in a while. An’ as I get 
 it he run across a gang of greasers with some gringo 
 prisoners. I don’t know, but I reckon there was 
 some barterin’, perhaps murderin’. Anyway, Ben- 
 son fetched the girl back. She was more dead than 
 alive. But it turned out she was only tarved an’ 
 scared half to death. She hadn’t been harmed. I 
 reckon she was then about fourteen years old. 
 Benson’s idee, he said, was to use her in his den 
 sellin’ drinks an’ the like. But I never went much 
 on Jackrabbit’s word. Bland seen the kid right off 
 and took her — bought her from Benson. You can 
 gamble Bland didn’t do thet from notions of chiv- 
 alry. 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 
 
 65 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 from treatin’ the kid shameful. Late Jennie has 
 growed into an all-fired pretty girl, an’ Kate is 
 powerful jealous of her. I can see hell brewin’ over 
 there in Bland’s cabin. Thet’s why I wish you’d 
 come over with me. Bland’s hardly ever home. 
 His wife’s invited you. Shore, if she gets sweet on 
 you, as she has on — Wal, thet ’d complicate mat- 
 ters. But you’d get to see Jennie, an’ mebbe you 
 could help her. Mind, I ain’t hintin’ nothin’. 
 I’m just wantin’ to put her in your way. You’re 
 a man an’ can think fer yourself. I had a baby girl 
 once, an’ if she’d lived she be as big as Jennie now, 
 an’, by Gawd, I wouldn’t want her here in Bland’s 
 camp.” ' - 
 
 “I’ll go, Euchre. Take me over,” replied Duane. 
 He felt Euchre’s eyes upon him. The old outlaw, 
 however, had no more to say. 
 
 In the afternoon Euchre set off with Duane, and 
 soon they reached Bland’s cabin. Duane remem- 
 bered it as the one where he had seen the pretty 
 woman watching him ride by. He could not recall 
 what she looked like. The cabin was the same as 
 the other adobe structures in the valley, but it was 
 larger and pleasantly located rather high up in a 
 grove of cottonwoods. In the windows and upon 
 the porch were evidences of a woman’s hand. 
 Through the open door Duane caught a glimpse of 
 bright Mexican blankets and rugs. 
 
 Euchre knocked upon the side of the door. 
 
 “Is that you, Euchre?” asked a girl’s voice, low, 
 hesitatingly. The tone of it, rather deep and with 
 a note of fear, struck Duane. He wondered what 
 she would be like. 
 
 66 
 
THE LONE' STAR RANGER 
 
 “Yes, it’s me, Jennie. Where’s Mrs. Bland?” 
 answered Euchre. 
 
 “She went over to Deger’s. There’s somebody 
 sick,” replied the girl. 
 
 Euchre turned and whispered something about 
 luck. The snap of the outlaw’s eyes was added sig- 
 nificance to Duane. 
 
 “Jennie, come out or let us come in. Here’s the 
 young man I was tellin’ you about,” Euchre said. 
 
 “Oh, I can’t! I look so — so — ” 
 
 “Never mind how you look,” interrupted the out- 
 law, 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 down- 
 cast eyes and a stain of red in her white cheek. She 
 had a pretty, sad face and bright hair. 
 
 “Don’t be bashful, Jennie,” said Euchre. “You 
 an’ Duane have a chance to talk a little. Now I’ll 
 go fetch Mrs. Bland, but I won’t be hurryin’.” 
 
 With that Euchre- went away through the cotton- 
 woods. 
 
 “I’m glad to meet you, Miss — Miss Jennie,” said 
 Duane. “Euchre didn’t mention your last name. 
 He asked me to come over to — ” 
 
 Duane’s attemot 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, out it had not been beauty that cut 
 
 67 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 short his speech. He seemed to see a tragic struggle 
 between hope and doubt that shone in her piercing 
 gaze. She kept looking, and Duane could not break 
 the silence. It was no ordinary moment. 
 
 “What did you come here for?” she asked, at last. 
 
 “To see you,” replied Duane, glad to speak. 
 
 “Why?” 
 
 “Well — Euchre thought — he wanted me to talk 
 to you, cheer you up a bit,” replied Duane, some- 
 what lamely. The earnest eyes embarrassed him. 
 
 “Euchre’s good. He’s the only person in this 
 awful place who’s been good to me. But he's 
 afraid of Bland. He said you were different. Who 
 are you?” 
 
 Duane told her. 
 
 “You’re not a robber or rustler or murderer or 
 some bad man come here to hide?” 
 
 “No, I’m not,” replied Duane, trying to smile. 
 
 “Then why are you here?” 
 
 “I’m on the dodge. You know what that means. 
 I got in a shooting-scrape at home and had to run 
 off. When it blows over I hope to go back.” 
 
 “But vou can’t be honest here?” 
 
 “Yes, I can.” 
 
 “Oh, I know what these outlaws are. Yes, you’re 
 different.” She kept the strained gaze upon him, 
 but hope was kindling, and the hard lines of her 
 youthful face were softening. 
 
 Something sweet and warm stirred deep in Duane 
 as he realized the unfortunate girl was experiencing 
 a birth of trust in him. 
 
 “O God! Maybe you’re the man to save me — 
 to take me away before it’s too late!” 
 
 68 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 Duane’s spirit leaped. 
 
 “Maybe I am,” he replied, instantly. 
 
 She seemed to check a blind impulse to ran into 
 his arms. Her cheek flamed, her lips quivered, her 
 bosom swelled under her ragged dress. Then the 
 glow began to fade; doubt once more assailed her. 
 
 “It can’t be. You’re only — after me, too, like 
 Bland — like all of them.” 
 
 Duane’s long arms went out and his hands clasped 
 her shoulders. He shook her. 
 
 “Look at me — straight in the eye. There are 
 decent men. Haven’t you a father — a brother?” 
 “They’re dead — killed by raiders. We lived in 
 Dimmit County. I was carried away,” Jennie re- 
 plied, hurriedly. She put up an appealing hand to 
 him. “Forgive me. I believe — I know you’re good. 
 It was only — I live so much in fear — I’m half crazy 
 — I’ve almost forgotten what good men are like. 
 Mister Duane, you’ll help me?” 
 
 “Yes, Jennie, I will. Tell me how. What must 
 I do? Have you any plan?” 
 
 “Oh no. But take me away.” 
 
 “I’ll try,” said Duane, simply. “That won’t be 
 easy, though. I must have time to think. You 
 must help me. There are many things to con- 
 sider. Horses, food, trails, and then the best time 
 to make the attempt. Are you watched — kept 
 prisoner?” 
 
 “No. I could have run off lots of times. But f 
 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 hus- 
 band and these other dogs. She’s been as good as 
 
 69 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 that, and I’m grateful. She hasn’t done it for love 
 of me, though. She always hated me. And lately 
 she’s growing jealous. There was a man came here 
 by the name of Spence — so he called himself. He 
 tried to be kind to me. But she wouldn’t let him. 
 She was in love with him. She’s a bad woman. 
 Bland finally shot Spence, and that ended that. 
 She’s been jealous ever since. I hear her fighting 
 with Bland about me. She swears she’ll kill me 
 before he gets me. And Bland laughs in her face. 
 Then I’ve heard Chess Alloway try to persuade 
 Bland to give me to him. But Bland doesn’t laugh 
 then. Just lately before Bland went away things 
 almost came to a head. I couldn’t sleep. I wished 
 Mrs. Bland would kill me. I’ll certainly kill my- 
 self if they ruin me. Duane, you must be quick if 
 you’d save me.” 
 
 “I realize that,” replied he, thoughtfully. “I 
 think my difficulty will be to fool Mrs. Bland. If 
 she suspected me she’d have the whole gang of out- 
 laws on me at once.” 
 
 “She would that. You’ve got to be careful- — and 
 quick.” 
 
 “What kind of woman is she?” inquired Duane. 
 
 “She’s — she’s brazen. I’ve heard her with her 
 lovers. They get drunk sometimes when Bland’s 
 away. She’s got a terrible temper. She’s vain. 
 She likes flattery. Oh, you could fool her easy 
 enough if you’d lower yourself to — to — ” 
 
 “To make love to her?” interrupted Duane. 
 
 Jennie bravely turned shamed eyes to meet his. 
 
 “My girl, I’d do worse than that to get you awwv 
 from here,” he said, bluntly. 
 
 70 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGES 
 
 “But — Duane,” she faltered, and again she put 
 out the appealing hand. “Bland will kill you.” 
 
 Duane made no reply to this. He was trying to 
 still a rising strange tumult in his breast. The old 
 emotion — the rush of an instinct to kill ! He turned 
 cold all over. 
 
 “Chess Alloway will kill you if Bland doesn’t,” 
 went on Jennie, with her tragic eyes on Duane’s. 
 
 “Maybe he will,” replied Duane. It was diffi- 
 cult for him to force a smile. But he achieved 
 one. 
 
 “Oh, better take me off at once,” she said. “Save 
 me without risking so much — without making love 
 to Mrs. Bland!” 
 
 “Surely, if I can. There! I see Euchre coming 
 with a woman.” 
 
 “That’s her. Oh, she mustn’t see me with you.” 
 
 “Wait — a moment,” whispered Duane, as Jennie 
 slipped indoors. “We’ve settled it. Don't for- 
 get. I’ll find some way to get word to you, perhaps 
 through Euchre. Meanwhile keep up your cour- 
 age. Remember I’ll save you somehow. We’ll try 
 strategy first. "Whatever you see or hear me do, 
 don’t think less of me — ” 
 
 Jennie cheeked him with a gesture and a won- 
 derful gray flash of eyes. 
 
 “I’ll bless you with every drop of blood in my 
 heart,” she whispered, passionately. 
 
 It was only as she turned away into the room that 
 Duane saw she was lame and that she wore Mexican 
 sandals over bare feet. 
 
 He sat down upon a bench on the porch and di- 
 rected his attention to the approaching couple. The 
 
 n 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 trees of the grove were thick enough for him to make 
 reasonably sure that Mrs. Bland had not seen him 
 talking to Jennie. When the outlaw’s wife drew 
 near Duane saw that she was a tall, strong, full- 
 bodied woman, rather good-looking with a full- 
 blown, bold attractiveness. Duane was more con- 
 cerned with her expression than with her good looks ; 
 and as she appeared unsuspicious he felt relieved. 
 The situation then took on a singular zest. 
 
 Euchre came up on the porch and awkwardly in- 
 troduced Duane to Mrs. Bland. She was young, 
 probably not over twenty-five, and not quite so 
 prepossessing at close range. Her eyes were large, 
 rather prominent, and brown in color. Her mouth, 
 too, was large, with the lips full, and she had white 
 teeth. 
 
 Duane took her proffered hand and remarked 
 frankly that he was glad to meet her. 
 
 Mrs. Bland appeared pleased; and her laugh, 
 which followed, was loud and rather musical. 
 
 “Mr. Duane — Buck Duane, Euchre said, didn’t 
 he?” she asked. 
 
 “Buckley,” corrected Duane. “The nickname’s 
 
 not of my choosing.” 
 
 “I’m certainly glad to meet you, Buckley Duane,” 
 she said, as she took the seat Duane offered her. 
 “Sorry to have been out. Kid Fuller’s lying over 
 at Deger’s. You know he was shot last night. 
 He’s got fever to-day. When Bland’s away I have 
 to nurse all these shot-up boys, and it sure takes 
 my time. Have you been waiting here alone? 
 Didn’t see that slattern girl of mine?” 
 
 She gave him a sharp glance. The woman had 
 
 72 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 an extraordinary play of feature, Duane thought, 
 and unless she was smiling was not pretty at all. 
 
 “I’ve been alone,” replied Duane. “Haven’t seen 
 anybody but a sick-looking girl with a bucket. And 
 she ran when she saw me.” 
 
 “That was Jen,” said Mrs. Bland. “She’s the 
 kid we keep here, and she sure hardly pays her keep. 
 Did Euchre tell you about her?” 
 
 “Now that I think of it, he did say something or 
 other.” 
 
 “What did he tell you about me?” bluntly asked 
 Mrs. Bland. 
 
 “Wal, Kate,” replied Euchre, speaking for him- 
 self, “you needn’t worry none, for I told Buck 
 nothin’ but compliments.” 
 
 Evidently the outlaw’s wife liked Euchre, for her 
 keen glance rested with amusement upon him. 
 
 “As for Jen, I’ll tell you her story some day,” 
 went on the woman. “It’s a common enough story 
 along this river. Euchre here is a tender-hearted 
 old fool, and Jen has taken him in.” 
 
 “Wal, seein’ as you’ve got me figgered correct,” 
 replied Euchre, dryly, “I’ll go in an’ talk to Jennie, 
 if I may.” 
 
 “Certainly. Go ahead. Jen calls you her best 
 friend,” said Mrs. Bland, amiably. “You’re always 
 fetching some Mexican stuff, and that’s why, I guess.” 
 When Euchre had shuffled into the house Mrs. 
 Bland turned to Duane with curiosity and interest 
 in her gaze. 
 
 “Bland told me about you.” 
 
 “What did he say?” queried Duane, in pretended 
 
 alarm. 
 
 73 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “Oh, you needn’t think he’s done you dirt 
 Bland’s not that kind of a man. He said: ‘Kate, 
 there’s a young fellow in camp — rode in here on the 
 dodge. He’s no criminal, and he refused to join 
 my band. Wish he would. Slickest hand with a 
 gun I’ve seen for many a day! I’d like to see him 
 and Chess meet out there in the road.’ Then Bland 
 went on to tell how you and Bosomer came to- 
 gether.” 
 
 “What did you say?” inquired Duane, as she 
 
 paused. 
 
 “Me? Why, I asked him what you looked like,” 
 
 she replied, gayly. 
 
 “Well?” went on Duane. 
 
 “Magnificent chap, Bland said. Bigger than any 
 man in the valley. Just a great blue-eyed, sun- 
 burned boy!” 
 
 “Humph!” exclaimed Duane. “I’m sorry he led 
 you to expect somebody worth seeing.” 
 
 “But I’m not disappointed,” she returned, arch- 
 ly. “Duane, are you going to stay long here in 
 
 camp?” 
 
 “Yes, till I run out of money and have to move. 
 
 Why?” 
 
 Mrs. Bland’s face underwent one of the singular 
 changes. The smiles and flushes and glances, all 
 that had been coquettish about her, had lent her a 
 certain attractiveness, almost beauty and youth. 
 But with some powerful emotion she changed and 
 instantly became a woman of discontent, Duane 
 imagined, of deep, violent nature. 
 
 “I’ll tell you, Duane,” she said, earnestly, “I’m 
 sure glad if you mean to bide here awhile. I’m a 
 
 74 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 miserable woman, Duane. I’m an outlaw’s wife, 
 and I hate him and the life I have to lead. I come 
 of a good family in Brownsville. I never knew Bland 
 was an outlaw till long after he married me. We 
 were separated at times, and I imagined he was 
 away on business. But the truth came out. Bland 
 •shot my own cousin, who told me. My family cast 
 me off, and I had to flee with Bland. I was only 
 eighteen then. I’ve lived here since. I never see 
 a decent woman or man. I never hear anything 
 about my old home or folks or friends. I’m buried 
 here — buried alive with a lot of thieves and mur- 
 derers. Can you blame me for being glad to see a 
 young fellow — a gentleman — like the boys I used 
 to go with ? I tell you it makes me feel full — I want 
 to cry. I’m sick for somebody to talk to. I have 
 no children, thank God ! If I had I’d not stay here. 
 I’m sick of this hole. I’m lonely — ” 
 
 There appeared to be no doubt about the truth 
 of all this. Genuine emotion checked, then halted 
 the hurried speech. She broke down and cried. It 
 seemed strange to Duane that an outlaw’s wife — 
 and a woman who fitted her consort and the wild 
 nature of their surroundings — should have weak- 
 ness enough to weep. Duane believed and pitied 
 her. 
 
 “I’m sorry for you,” he said. 
 
 “Don’t be sorry for me,” she said. “That only 
 makes me see the — the difference between you and 
 me. And don’t pay any attention to what these 
 outlaws say about me. They’re ignorant. They 
 couldn’t understand me. You’ll hear that Bland 
 killed men who ran after me. But that’s a he. 
 
 6 75 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 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 gun- 
 play gravitates to men who are the real thing — 
 that it is provoked by the four-flushes, the bad men. 
 I don’t know. All I know is that somebody is being 
 killed every other day. He hated Spence before 
 Spence ever saw me.” 
 
 “Would Bland object if I called on you occa- 
 sionally?” inquired Duane. 
 
 “No, he wouldn’t. He likes me to have friends. 
 Ask him yourself when he comes back. The trouble 
 has been that two or three of his men fell in love 
 with me, and when half drunk got to fighting. 
 You’re not going to do that.” 
 
 “I’m not going to get half drunk, that’s certain,” 
 replied Duane. 
 
 He was surprised to see her eyes dilate, then glow 
 with fire. Before she could reply Euchre returned 
 to the porch, and that put an end to the conversation. 
 
 Duane was content to let the matter rest there, 
 and had little more to say. Euchre and Mrs. Bland 
 talked and joked, while Duane listened. Tie tried 
 to form some estimate of her character. Mani- 
 festly she had suffered a wrong, if not worse, at 
 Bland’s hands. She was bitter, morbid, over- 
 emotional. If she was a liar, which seemed likely 
 enough, she was a frank one, and believed herself. 
 She had no cunning. The thing which struck Duane 
 so forcibly was that she thirsted for respect. In 
 that, better than in her weakness of vanity, he 
 thought he had discovered a trait through which he 
 could manage her. 
 
 76 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 Once, while he was revolving these thoughts, he 
 happened to glance into the house, and deep in the 
 shadow of a comer he caught a pale gleam of Jen- 
 nie’s face with great, staring eyes on him. She had 
 been watching him, listening to what he said. He 
 saw from her expression that she had realized what 
 had been so hard for her to believe. Watching his 
 chance, he flashed a look at her; and then it seemed, 
 to him the change in her face was wonderful. 
 
 Later, after he had left Mrs. Bland with a mean 
 ing “Adios — manana,” and was walking along be- 
 side the old outlaw, he found himself thinking of 
 the girl instead of the woman, and of how he had 
 seen her face blaze with hope and gratitude. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 T HAT 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 un- 
 usually thoughtful, working over the idea of how 
 much or how little he would confide in the outlaw. 
 He was aware of Euchre’s scrutiny. 
 
 “Wal,” began the old man, at last, “how’d you 
 make out with the kid?” 
 
 “Kid?” inquired Duane, tentatively. 
 
 “Jennie, I mean. What ’d you an’ she talk 
 about?” 
 
 “We had a little chat. You know you wanted 
 me to cheer her up.” 
 
 Euchre sat with coffee-cup poised and narrow 
 eyes studying Duane. 
 
 “Reckon you cheered her, all right; What I’m 
 af eared of is mebbe you done the job too well.” 
 “How so?” 
 
 “Wal, when I went in to Jen last night I thought 
 she was half crazy. She was burstin’ with excite- 
 ment, 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. 
 
 78 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 Buck, it was plain to me thet you’d either gone the 
 limit or else you’d been kinder prodigal of cheer an’ 
 hope. I’d hate to think you’d led Jennie to hope 
 more’n ever would come true.” 
 
 Euchre paused, and, as there seemed no reply 
 forthcoming, he went on: 
 
 ‘■'Buck, I’ve seen some outlaws whose word was 
 good. Mine is. You can trust me. I trusted you, 
 didn’t I, takin’ you over there an’ puttin’ you wise 
 to my tryin’ to help thet poor kid?” 
 
 Thus enjoined by Euchre, Duane began to tell 
 the conversations with Jennie and Mrs. Bland word 
 for word. Long before he had reached an end 
 Euchre set down the coffee-cup and began to stare, 
 and at the conclusion of the story his face lost some 
 of its red color and beads of sweat stood out thickly 
 on his brow. 
 
 “Wal, if thet doesn’t floor me!” he ejaculated, 
 blinking at Duane. “Young man, I figgered you 
 was some swift, an’ sure to make your mark on this 
 river; but I reckon I missed your real caliber. So 
 thet’s what it means to be a man! I guess I’d for- 
 got. Wal, I’m old, an’ even if my heart was in the 
 right place I never was built fer big stunts. Do you 
 know what it ’ll take to do all you promised Jen?” 
 “I haven’t any idea,” replied Duane, gravely. 
 “You’ll have to pull the wool over Kate Bland’s 
 eyes, an’ even if she falls in love with you, which ’s 
 shore likely, thet won’t be easy. An’ she’d kill you 
 in a minnit, Buck, if she ever got wise. You ain’t 
 mistaken her none, are you?” 
 
 “Not me, Euchre. She’s a woman. I’d fear her 
 more than any man.” 
 
 79 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “Wal, you’ll have to kill Bland an’ Chess Alio- 
 way an’ Rugg, an’ inebbe some others, before you 
 can ride off into the hills with thet girl.” 
 
 “Why? Can’t we plan to be nice to Mrs. Bland 
 and then at an opportune time sneak off without 
 any gun-play?” 
 
 “Don’t see how on earth,” returned Euchre, 
 earnestly. “When Bland’s away he leaves all kinds 
 of spies an’ scouts watchin’ the valley trails. They’ve 
 all got rifles. You couldn’t git by them. But when 
 the boss is home there’s a difference. Only, of course, 
 him an’ Chess keep their eyes peeled. They both 
 stay to home pretty much, except when they’re 
 playin’ monte or poker over at Benson’s. So I say 
 the best bet is to pick out a good time in the after- 
 noon, drift over careless-like with a couple of hosscs, 
 choke Mrs. Bland or knock her on the head, take 
 Jennie with you, an’ make a rush to gif out of the 
 valley. If you had luck you might pull thet stunt 
 without throwin’ a gun. But I reckon the best 
 figgerin’ would include dodgin’ some lead an’ leavin’ 
 at least Bland or Alloway dead behind you. I’m 
 figgerin’, of course, thet when they come home an’ 
 find out you’re visitin’ Kate frequent they’ll jest 
 naturally look fer results. Chess don’t like you, fer 
 no reason except you’re swift on the draw — mebbe 
 swifter ’n him. Thet’s the hell of this gun-play 
 business. No one can ever tell who’s the swifter of 
 two gunmen till they meet. Thet fact holds a 
 fascination mebbe you’ll learn some day. Bland 
 would treat you civil onless there was reason not 
 to, an’ then I don’t believe he’d invite himself to 
 a meetin’ wdtli you. He’d set Chess or Rugg to 
 
 So 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 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, 
 quietly. “The great point is to have horses ready 
 and pick the right moment, then rush the trick 
 through.” 
 
 “Thet’s the only chance fer success. An’ you 
 can’t do it alone.” 
 
 “I’ll have to. I wouldn't ask you to help me. 
 Leave you behind!” 
 
 “Wal, I’ll take my chances,” replied Euchre, 
 gruffly. “I’m goin’ to help Jennie, you can gamble 
 your last peso on thet. There’s only four men in 
 this camp who would shoot me — Bland, an’ his 
 right-hand pards. an’ thet rabbit-faced Benson. If 
 you happened to put out Bland and Chess, I’d stand 
 a good show with the other two. Anyway, I’m old 
 an’ tired — what’s the difference if I do git plugged? 
 I can risk as much as you, Buck, even if I am 
 afraid of gun - play. You said correct, ‘ Hosses 
 ready, the right minnit, then rush the trick.’ Thet 
 much ’s settled. Now let’s figger all the little 
 details.” 
 
 They talked and planned, though in truth it was 
 Euchre who planned, Duane who listened and agreed. 
 While awaiting the return of Bland and his lieu- 
 tenants it would be well for Duane to grow friendly 
 with the other outlaws, to sit in a few games of 
 monte, or show a willingness to spend a little money. 
 The two schemers were to call upon Mrs. Bland 
 every day — Euchre to carry messages of cheer and 
 warning to Jennie, Duane to blind the elder woman 
 
 81 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 it any cost. These preliminaries decided upon, they 
 proceeded to put them into action. 
 
 No hard task was it to win the friendship of the 
 most of those good-natured outlaws. They were 
 used to men of a better order than theirs coming to 
 the hidden camps and sooner or later sinking to 
 their lower level. Besides, with them everything 
 was easy come, easy go. That was why life itself 
 went on so carelessly and usually ended so cheaply. 
 There were men among them, however, that made 
 Duane feel that terrible inexplicable wrath rise in 
 his breast. He could not bear to be near them. 
 He could not trust himself. He felt that any in- 
 stant 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 mountain-tops were always blue or 
 gold rimmed, the yellow river slid slowly and ma- 
 jestically by, the birds sang in the cottonwoods, the 
 horses grazed and pranced, children played and 
 women longed for love, freedom, happiness; the 
 
 82 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 outlaws rode in and out, free with money antf 
 speech; they lived comfortably in their adobe 
 homes, smoked, gambled, talked, laughed, whiled 
 away the idle hours — and all the time life there was 
 wrong, and the simplest moment might be precip- 
 itated by that evil into the most awful of con- 
 trasts. Duane felt rather than saw a dark, brood- 
 ing shadow over the valley. 
 
 Then, without any solicitation or encouragement 
 from Duane, the Bland woman fell passionately in 
 love with him. His conscience was never troubled 
 about the beginning of that affair. She launched 
 herself. It took no great perspicuity on his part to 
 see that. And the thing which evidently held her 
 in check was the newness, the strangeness, and for 
 the moment the all-satisfying fact of his respect for 
 her. Duane exerted himself to please, to amuse, 
 to interest, to fascinate her, and always with defer- 
 ence. 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 him- 
 self any deeper. 
 
 He v/as playing at a game of love — playing with 
 life and death! 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 car- 
 ried 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. 
 
 83 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 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 in- 
 spired in his talk, and it was all made for her. So 
 at least she came to know him while as yet she was 
 almost a stranger. Jennie had been instructed by 
 Euchre to listen, to understand that this was Duane’s 
 only chance to help keep her mind from constant 
 worry, to gather the import of every word which 
 had a double meaning. 
 
 Euchre said that the girl had begun to wither 
 under the strain, to burn up with intense hope which 
 had flamed within her. But all the difference Duane 
 could see was a paler face and darker, more wonder- 
 ful 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 re- 
 membered 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 remem- 
 brance of her he got rid of his pale, sickening ghosts. 
 
 One day a careless Mexican threw a lighted 
 cigarette up into the brush matting that served as 
 a ceiling for Benson’s den, and there was a fire 
 
 84 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 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 out- 
 laws. Days passed by without a brawl, and Bland’s 
 valley saw more successive hours of peace than ever 
 before. Duane, however, found the hours anything 
 but empty. He spent more time at Mrs. Bland’s; 
 he walked miles on all the trails leading out of the 
 valley; he had a care for the condition of his two 
 horses. 
 
 Upon his return from the latest of these tramps 
 Euchre suggested that they go down to the river 
 to the boat-landing. 
 
 “Ferry couldn’t run ashore this mornin’,” said 
 Euchre. “River gettin’ low an’ sand-bars makin’ 
 it hard fer bosses. There’s a greaser freight-wagon 
 stuck in the mud. I reckon we might hear news 
 from the freighters. Bland’s supposed to be in 
 Mexico.” 
 
 Nearly all the outlaws in camp were assembled 
 on the river-bank, lolling in the shade of the cotton- 
 woods. The heat was oppressive. Not an outlaw 
 offered to help the freighters, who were trying to 
 dig a heavily freighted wagon out of the quick- 
 sand. Few outlaws would work for themselves, 
 !et 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 
 
 Ss 
 
THE EONE STAR RANGER 
 
 moment an idle word might be of benefit to him. 
 Moreover, these rough men were always interesting. 
 
 “Bland’s been chased acrost the river,” said one. 
 
 “Naw, he’s deliverin’ cattle to thet Cuban ship,” 
 replied another. 
 
 “Big deal on, hey?” 
 
 “Some big. Rugg says the boss hed an order fer 
 fifteen thousand.” 
 
 “Say, that order ’ll take a year to fill.” 
 
 “Naw. Hardin is in cahoots with Bland. Be- 
 tween ’em they’ll fill orders bigger ’n thet.” 
 
 “Wondered what Hardin was rustlin’ in here fer.” 
 
 Duane could not possibly attend to all the con- 
 versation among the outlaws. He endeavored to 
 get the drift of talk nearest to him. 
 
 “Kid Fuller’s goin’ to cash,” said a sandy- whisk- 
 ered little outlaw. 
 
 “So Jim was tellin’ me. Blood-poison, ain’t it? 
 Thet hole wasn’t bad. But he took the fever,” 
 rejoined a comrade. 
 
 “Deger says the Kid might pull through if he hed 
 nursin’.” 
 
 “Wal, Kate Bland ain’t nursin’ any shot-up boys 
 these days. She hasn’t got time.” 
 
 A laugh followed this sally; then came a pene- 
 trating silence. Some of the outlaws glanced good- 
 naturedly at Duane. They bore him no ill will. !&an- 
 ifestly they were aware of Mrs. Bland’s infatuation. 
 
 “Pete, ’pears to me you’ve said thet before.” 
 
 “Shore. Wal, it’s happened before.” 
 
 This remark drew louder laughter and more sig- 
 nificant glances at Duane. He did not choose to 
 ignore them any longer. 
 
 86 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “Boys, poke all the fun you like at me, but don’t 
 mention any lady’s name again. My hand is nervous 
 and itchy these days.” 
 
 He smiled as he spoke, and his speech was drawled ; 
 but the good humor in no wise weakened it. Then 
 his latter remark was significant to a class of men 
 who from inclination and necessity practised at 
 gun-drawing until they wore callous and sore places 
 on their thumbs and inculcated in the very deeps 
 of their nervous organization a habit that made 
 even the simplest and most innocent motion of the 
 hand end at or near the hip. There was something 
 remarkable about a gun-fighter’s hand. It never 
 seemed to be gloved, never to be injured, never out 
 of sight or in an awkward position. 
 
 There were grizzled outlaws in that group, some 
 of whom had many notches on their gun-handles, 
 and they, with their comrades, accorded Duane 
 silence that carried conviction of the regard in 
 which he was held. 
 
 Duane could not recall any other instance where 
 he had let fall a familiar speech to these men, and 
 certainly he hadnever before hinted of his possibilities. 
 He saw instantly that he could not have done better. 
 
 “Orful hot, ain’t it?” remarked Bill Black, pres- 
 ently. Bill could not keep quiet for long. He was 
 a typical Texas desperado, had never been anything 
 else. He was stoop-shouldered and bow-legged from 
 much riding; a wiry little man, all muscle, with a 
 square head, a hard face partly black from scrubby 
 beard, and red from sun, and a bright, roving, cruel 
 eye. His shirt was open at the neck, showing a 
 grizzled breast. 
 
 87 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 ‘ ‘ Is there any guy in this heah outfit sport enough 
 to go swimmin’?” he asked. 
 
 “My Gawd, Bill, you ain’t agoin’ to wash!” ex- 
 claimed a comrade. 
 
 This raised a laugh in which Black joined. But 
 no one seemed eager to join him in a bath. 
 
 “Laziest outfit I ever rustled with,” went on Bill, 
 discontentedly. “Nuthin’ to do! Say, if nobody 
 wants to swim maybe some of you’ll gamble?” 
 
 He produced a dirty pack of cards and waved 
 them at the motionless crowd. 
 
 “Bill, you’re too good at cards,” replied a lanky 
 outlaw. 
 
 “Now, Jasper, you say thet powerful sweet, an’ 
 you look sweet, er I might take it to heart,” replied 
 Black, with a sudden change of tone. 
 
 Here it was again — that upflashing passion. What 
 Jasper saw fit to reply would mollify the outlaw or 
 it would not. There was an even balance. 
 
 “No offense, Bill,” said Jasper, placidly, without 
 moving. 
 
 Bill grunted and forgot Jasper. But he seemed 
 restless and dissatisfied. Duane knew him to be 
 an inveterate gambler. And as Benson’s place was 
 out of running-order, Black was like a fish on dry 
 land. 
 
 “Wal, if you-all are afraid of the cairds, what will 
 you bet on?” he asked, in disgust. 
 
 “Bill, I’ll play you a game of mumbly peg fer two 
 bits,” replied one. 
 
 Black eagerly accepted. Betting to him was a 
 serious matter. The game obsessed him, not the 
 stakes. He entered into the" mumbly-peg contest 
 
 88 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 with a thoughtful mien and a corded brow. He 
 won. Other comrades tried their luck with him 
 and lost. Finally, when Bill had exhausted their 
 supply of two-bit pieces or their desire for that 
 particular game, he offered to bet on anything. 
 
 “See thet turtle-dove there?” he said, pointing. 
 “I’ll bet he’ll scare at one stone or he won’t. Five 
 pesos he’ll fly or he won’t fly when some one chucks 
 a stone. Who’ll take me up?” 
 
 That appeared to be more than the gambling spirit 
 of several outlaws could withstand. 
 
 “Take thet. Easy money,” said one. 
 
 “Who's goin’ to chuck the stone?” asked another. 
 
 “Anybody,” replied Bill. 
 
 “Wal, I’ll bet you I can scare him with one stone,” 
 said the first outlaw. 
 
 “We’re in on thet, Jim to fire the darnick,” 
 chimed in the others. 
 
 The money was put up, the stone thrown. The 
 turtle-dove took flight, to the great joy of all the 
 outlaws except Bill. 
 
 “I’ll bet you-all he’ll come back to thet tree in- 
 side 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 accom- 
 paniment of various jocular remarks anent a fool 
 and his money. When four and three-quarter min- 
 utes had passed a turtle-dove alighted in the cotton- 
 wood. Then ensued an impressive silence while Bill 
 calmly pocketed the fifty dollars. 
 
 89 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “But it hain’t the same dove!” exclaimed one out- 
 law, excitedly. “This ’n’ is smaller, dustier, not so 
 purple.” 
 
 Bill eyed the speaker loftily. 
 
 “Wal, you’ll have to ketch the other one to prove 
 thet. Sabe, pard? Now I’ll bet any gent heah the 
 fifty I won thet I can scare thet dove with one stone.” 
 
 No one offered to take his wager. 
 
 “Wal, then, I’ll bet any of you even money thet 
 you can't scare him with one stone.” 
 
 Not proof against this chance, the outlaws made 
 up a purse, in no wise disconcerted by Bill’s con- 
 temptuous allusions to their banding together. The 
 stone was thrown. The dove did not fly. There- 
 after, in regard to that bird, Bill was unable to coax 
 or scorn his comrades into any kind of wager. 
 
 He tried them with a multiplicity of offers, and 
 in vain. Then he appeared at a loss for some un- 
 usual and seductive wager. Presently a little ragged 
 Mexican boy came along the river trail, a particu- 
 larly starved and poor-looking little fellow. Bill 
 called to him and gave him a handful of silver coins. 
 Speechless, dazed, he went his way hugging the 
 money. 
 
 “I’ll bet he drops some before he gits to the road,” 
 declared Bill. “I’ll bet he runs. Hurry, you four- 
 flush gamblers.” 
 
 Bill failed to interest any of his companions, and 
 forthwith became sullen and silent. Strangely his 
 good humor departed in spite of the fact that he 
 had won considerable. 
 
 Duane, watching the disgruntled outlaw, mar- 
 veled at him and wondered what was in his mind. 
 
 oo 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 These men were more variable than children, as 
 unstable as water, as dangerous as dynamite. 
 
 “Bill, I’ll bet you ten you can’t spill whatever’s 
 in the bucket thet peon’s packin’,” said the outlaw 
 called Jim. 
 
 Black’s head came up with the action of a hawk 
 about to swoop. 
 
 Duane glanced from Black to the road, where he 
 saw a crippled peon carrying a tin bucket toward 
 the river. This peon Vas a half-witted Indian who 
 lived in a shack and did odd jobs for the Mexicans. 
 Duane had met him often. 
 
 “Jim, I’ll take you up,” replied Black. 
 
 Something, perhaps a harshness in his voice, caused 
 Duane to whirl. He caught a leaping gleam in the 
 outlaw’s eye. 
 
 “Aw, Bill, thet’s too fur a shot,” said Jasper, as 
 Black rested an elbow on his knee and sighted over 
 the long, heavy Colt. The distance to the peon was 
 about fifty paces, too far for even the most expert 
 shot to hit a moving object so small as a bucket. 
 
 Duane, marvelously keen in the alignment of 
 sights, was positive that Black held too high. An- 
 other 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 weap- 
 on, he did not seem the same man, or else he was 
 cowed by Duane’s significant and formidable front. 
 Sullenly he turned away without even asking for 
 his gun. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 W HAT a contrast, Duane thought, the evening 
 of that day presented to the state of his soul ! 
 The sunset lingered in golden glory over the dis- 
 tant 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 cow- 
 bell were the only sounds; a serene and tranquil 
 peace lay over the valley. 
 
 Inside Duane’s body there was strife. This third 
 facing of a desperate man had thrown him off his 
 balance. It had not been fatal, but it threatened 
 so much. The better side of his nature seemed to 
 urge him to die rather than to go on fighting or op- 
 posing ignorant, unfortunate, savage men. But the 
 perversity of him was so great that it dwarfed rea- 
 son, conscience. He could not resist it. He felt 
 something dying in him. He suffered. Hope seemed 
 far away. Despair had seized upon him and was 
 driving him into a reckless mood when he thought of 
 Jennie. 
 
 He had forgotten her. He had forgotten that he 
 had promised to save her. He had forgotten that 
 he meant to snuff out as many lives as might stand 
 between her and freedom. The very remembrance 
 sheered off his morbid introspection. She made a 
 difference. How strange for him to realize that! 
 
 92 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 He felt grateful to her. He had been forced into 
 outlawry; she had been stolen from her people and 
 carried in^o captivity. They had met in the river 
 fastness, he to instil hope into her despairing life, 
 she to be the means, perhaps, of keeping him from 
 sinking to the level of her captors. He became 
 conscious of a strong and beating desire to see her, 
 talk with her. 
 
 These thoughts had run through his mind while 
 on his way to Mrs. Bland’s house. He had let 
 Euchre go on ahead because he wanted more time 
 to compose himself. Darkness had about set in 
 when he reached his destination. There was no 
 light in the house. Mrs. Bland was waiting for 
 him on the porch. 
 
 She embraced him, and the sudden, violent, un- 
 familiar contact sent such a shock through him that 
 he all but forgot the deep game he was playing. 
 She, however, in her agitation did not notice his 
 shrinking. From her embrace and the tender, 
 incoherent words that flowed with it he gathered 
 that Euchre had acquainted her of his action with 
 Black. 
 
 “He might have killed you!” she whispered, more 
 dearly; 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, un- 
 fortunate in her experience of life, doomed to un- 
 happiness 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 
 
 93 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 that, whatever her abandonment might become, he 
 would not go further than the lie she made him act. 
 
 “Buck, you love me?” she whispered. 
 
 “Yes — yes,” he burst out, eager to get it over, 
 and even as he spoke he caught the pale gleam of 
 Jennie’s face through the window. He felt a shame 
 he was glad she could not see. Did she remember 
 that she had promised not to misunderstand any 
 action of his? What did she think of him, seeing 
 him out there in the dusk with this bold woman in 
 his arms? Somehow that dim sight of Jennie’s 
 pale face, the big dark eyes, thrilled him, inspired 
 him to his hard task of the present. 
 
 “Listen, dear,” he said to the woman, and he 
 meant his words for the girl. “I’m going to take 
 you away from this outlaw den if I have to kill 
 Bland, Alloway, Rugg— anybody who stands in my 
 path. You were dragged here. You are good — I 
 know it. There’s happiness for you somewhere — a 
 home among good people who will care for you. 
 Just wait till — ” 
 
 His voice trailed off and failed from excess of 
 emotion. Kate Bland closed her eyes and leaned 
 her head on his breast. Duane felt her heart beat 
 against his, and conscience smote him a keen blow. 
 If she loved him so much ! But memory and under- 
 standing of her character hardened him again, and 
 he gave her such commiseration as was due her sex, 
 and no more. 
 
 “Boy, that’s good of you,” she whispered, “but 
 it’s too late. I’m done for. I can’t leave Bland. 
 All I ask is that you love me a little and stop your 
 gun-throwing.” 
 
 OA 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 The moon had risen over the eastern bulge of 
 dark mountain, and now the valley was flooded with 
 mellow light, and shadows of cottonwoods wavered 
 against the silver. 
 
 Suddenly the clip-clop, clip-clop of hoofs caused 
 Duane to raise his head and listen. Horses were 
 coming down the road from the head of the valley. 
 The hour was unusual for riders to come in. Pres- 
 ently the narrow, moonlit lane was crossed at its 
 far end by black moving objects. Two horses Duane 
 discerned. 
 
 “It’s Bland!” whispered the woman, grasping 
 Duane with shaking hands. “You must run! No, 
 he’d see you. That ’d be worse. It’s Bland! I 
 know his horse’s trot.” 
 
 “But you said he wouldn’t mind my calling here,” 
 protested Duane. “Euchre’s with me. It ’ll be all 
 right.” 
 
 “Maybe so,” she replied, with visible effort at 
 self-control. Manifestly she had a great fear of 
 Bland. “If I could only think!” 
 
 Then she dragged Duane to the door, pushed 
 him in. 
 
 “Euchre, come out with me! Duane, you stay 
 with the girl! I’ll tell Bland you’re in love with 
 her. Jen, if you give us away I’ll wring your neck.” 
 
 The swift action and fierce whisper told Duane 
 that Mrs. Bland was herself again. Duane stepped 
 close to Jennie, who stood near the window. Neither 
 spoke, but her hands were outstretched to meet his 
 own. They were small, trembling hands, cold as 
 ice. He held them close, trying to convey what 
 he felt — that he would protect her. She leaned 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 against him, and they looked out of the window. 
 Duane felt calm and sure of himself. His most 
 pronounced feeling besides that for the frightened 
 girl was a curiosity as to how Mrs. Bland would 
 rise to the occasion. He saw the riders dismount 
 down the lane and wearily come forward. A boy 
 led away the horses. Euchre, the old fox, was 
 talking loud and with remarkable ease, considering 
 what he claimed was his natural cowardice. 
 
 “ — that was way back in the sixties, about the 
 time of the war,” he was saying. “Rustlin’ cattle 
 wasn’t nuthin’ then to what it is now. An’ times is 
 rougher these days. This gun-throwin’ has come 
 to be a disease. Men have an itch for the draw 
 same as they used to have fer poker. The only real 
 gambler outside of greasers we ever had here was 
 Bill, an’ I presume Bill is burnin’ now.” 
 
 The approaching outlaws, hearing voices, halted 
 a rod or so from the porch. Then Mrs. Bland ut- 
 tered an exclamation, ostensibly meant to express 
 surprise, and hurried out to meet them. She greet- 
 ed her husband warmly and gave welcome to the 
 other man. Duane could not see well enough in 
 the shadow to recognize Bland’s companion, but 
 he believed it was Alloway. 
 
 “Dog-tired we are and starved,” said Bland, 
 heavily. “Who’s here with you?” 
 
 “That’s Euchre on the porch. Duane is inside 
 at the window with Jen,” replied Mrs. Bland. 
 
 “Duane!” he exclaimed. Then he whispered low 
 — something Duane could not catch. 
 
 “Why, 'I asked him to come,” said the chief’s wife. 
 She spoke easily and naturally and made no change 
 
 pr5 
 
the lone star ranger 
 
 in tone. “Jen has been ailing. She gets thinner 
 and whiter every day. Duane came here one day 
 with Euchre, saw Jen, and we nt loony over her pretty 
 face, same as all you men. So I let him come.” 
 
 Bland cursed low and deep under his breath. The 
 other man made a violent action of some kind and 
 apparently was quieted by a restraining hand. 
 
 “Kate, you let Duane make love to Jennie?” 
 queried Bland, incredulously. 
 
 “Yes, I did,” replied the wife, stubbornly. “Why 
 not? Jen’s in love with him. If he takes her away 
 and marries her she can be a decent woman.” 
 
 Bland kept silent a moment, then his laugh pealed 
 out loud and harsh. 
 
 “Chess, did you get that? Well, by God! what 
 do you think of my wife?” 
 
 “She’s lyin’ or she’s crazy,” replied Alloway, and 
 his voice carried an unpleasant ring. 
 
 Mrs. Bland promptly and indignantly told her 
 husband’s lieutenant to keep his mouth shut. 
 
 “Ho, ho, ho!” rolled out Bland’s laugh. 
 
 Then he led the way to the porch, his spurs clink- 
 ing, the weapons he was carrying rattling, and he 
 flopped down on a bench. 
 
 “How are you, boss?” asked Euchre. 
 
 “Hello, old man. I’m well, but all in.” 
 
 Alloway slowly walked on to the porch and leaned 
 against the rail. He answered Euchre’s greeting 
 with a nod. Then he stood there a dark, silent 
 figure. 
 
 Mrs. Bland’s full voice in eager questioning had 
 a tendency to ease the situation. Bland replied 
 briefly to her, reporting a remarkably successful trip. 
 
 97 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 Duane thought it time to show himself. He had 
 a feeling that Bland and Alloway would let him go 
 for the moment. They were plainly non-plussed, and 
 Alloway seemed sullen, brooding. 
 
 “Jennie,” whispered Duane, “that was clever of 
 Mrs. Bland. We’ll keep up the deception. Any 
 day now be ready!” 
 
 She pressed close to him, and a barely audible 
 “Hurry!” came breathing into his ear. 
 
 “Good night, Jennie,” he said, aloud. “Hope 
 you feel better to-morrow.” 
 
 Then he stepped out into the moonlight and spoke. 
 Bland returned the greeting, and, though he was not 
 amiable, he did not show resentment. 
 
 “Met Jasper as I rode in,” said Bland, presently. 
 “He told me you made Bill Black mad, and there’s 
 liable to be a fight. What did you go off the handle 
 about?” 
 
 Duane explained the incident. “I’m sorry I hap- 
 pened to be there,” he went on. “It wasn’t my 
 
 business.” 
 
 “Scurvy trick that ’d been,” muttered Bland. 
 “You did right. All the same, Duane, I want you 
 to stop quarreling with my men. If you were one 
 of us — that ’d be different. I can’t keep my men 
 from fighting. But I’m not called on to let an out- 
 sider hang around my camp and plug my rustlers.” 
 
 “I guess I’ll have to be hitting the trail for some- 
 where,” said Duane. 
 
 “Why not join my band? You’ve got a bad start 
 already, Duane, and if I know this border you’ll 
 never be a respectable citizen again. You’re a born 
 killer. I know every bad man on this frontier. 
 
 98 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 More than one of them have told me that something 
 exploded in their brain, and when sense came back 
 there lay another dead man. It’s not so with me. 
 I’ve done a little shooting, too, but I never wanted 
 to kill another man just to rid myself of the last one. 
 My dead men don’t sit on my chest at night. That’s 
 the gun-fighter’s trouble. He’s crazy. He has to kill 
 a new man — he’s driven to it to forget the last one.” 
 “But I’m no gun -fighter,” protested Duane. 
 “Circumstances made me — ” 
 
 “No doubt,” interrupted Bland, with a laugh, 
 “Circumstances made me a rustler. You don’t 
 know yourself. You’re young; you’ve got a tem- 
 per; your father was one of the most dangerous 
 men Texas ever had. I don’t see any other career 
 for you. Instead of going it alone — a lone wolf, 
 as the Texans say — why not make friends with other 
 outlaws? You’ll live longer.” 
 
 Euchre squirmed in his seat. 
 
 “Boss, I’ve been givin’ the boy egzactly thet same 
 line of talk. Thet’s why I took him in to bunk with 
 me. If he" makes pards among us there won’t be 
 any more trouble. An’ he’d be a grand feller fer 
 the gang. I’ve seen Wild Bill Hickok throw a gun, 
 an’ Billy the Kid, an’ Hardin, an’ Chess here — all 
 the fastest men on the border. An’ with apologies 
 to present company, I’m here to say Duane has 
 them all skinned. His draw is different. You can’t 
 see how he does it.” 
 
 Euchre’s admiring praise served to create an effec- 
 tive little silence. Alloway shifted uneasily on his 
 feet, his spurs jangling faintly, and did not lift his 
 head. Bland seemed thoughtful. 
 
 99 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “That’s about the only qualification I have to 
 make me eligible for your band,” said Duane, 
 easily. 
 
 “It’s good enough, ’ ’ replied Bland, shortly. ‘ ‘ Will 
 you consider the idea?” 
 
 “I’ll think it over. Good night.” 
 
 He left the group, followed by Euchre. When 
 they reached the end of the lane, and before they 
 had exchanged a word, Bland called Euchre back. 
 Duane proceeded slowly along the moonlit road to 
 the cabin and sat down under the cottonwoods to 
 wait for Euchre. The night was intense and quiet, 
 a low hum of insects giving the effect of a congestion 
 of life. The beauty of the soaring moon, the ebony 
 canons of shadow under the mountain, the melan- 
 choly serenity of the perfect night, made Duane shud- 
 der in the realization of how far aloof he now was from 
 enjoyment of these things. Never again so long as 
 he lived could he be natural. His mind was clouded. 
 His eye and ear henceforth must register impressions 
 of nature, but the joy of them had fled. 
 
 Still, as he sat there with a foreboding of more and 
 darker work ahead of him there was yet a strange 
 sweetness left to him, and it lay in thought of Jen- 
 nie. 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 inter- 
 spersed in the constant and stern revolving of plans 
 to save her. 
 
 A shuffling step roused him. Euchre’s dark fig- 
 ure came crossing the moonlit grass under the cot- 
 tonwoods. The moment the outlaw reached him 
 
 IOO 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 Duane saw that he was laboring under great excite- 
 ment. It scarcely affected Duane. He seemed to 
 be acquiring patience, calmness, strength. 
 
 “Bland kept you pretty long,” he said. 
 
 “Wait till I git my breath,” replied Euchre. He 
 sat silent a little while, fanning himself with a som- 
 brero, 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 ac- 
 quainted Duane with Euchre’s quaint humor. “Fine 
 night for love-affairs, by gum!” 
 
 “I’d noticed that,” rejoined Duane, dryly. 
 
 “Wal, I’m a son of a gun if I didn’t stand an’ 
 watch Bland choke his wife till her tongue stuck 
 out an’ she got black in the face.” 
 
 “ No !” ejaculated Duane. 
 
 “Hope to die if I didn’t. Buck, listen to this 
 here yarn. When I got back to the porch I seen 
 Bland was wakin’ up. He’d been too fagged out to 
 figger much. Alloway an’ Kate had gone in the 
 house, where they lit up the lamps. I heard Kate’s 
 high voice, but Alloway never chirped. He’s not 
 the talkin’ kind, an’ he’s damn dangerous when he’s 
 thet way. Bland asked me some questions right 
 from the shoulder. I was ready for them, an’ I - 
 swore the moon was green cheese. He was satis- 
 fied. Bland always trusted me, an’ liked me, too, 
 
 I reckon. I hated to lie black thet way. But he’s 
 a hard man with bad intentions toward Jennie, an’ 
 I’d double-cross him any day. 
 
 “Then we went into the house. Jennie had gone 
 to her little room, an’ Bland called her to come out. 
 She said she was undressin’. An’ he ordered her 
 
 IOI 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 to put her clothes back on. Then, Buck, his next 
 move was some surprisin’. He deliberately throwed 
 a gun on Kate. Yes sir, he pointed his big blue Colt 
 right at her, an’ he says: 
 
 “‘I’ve a mind to blow out your brains.’ 
 
 “‘Go ahead,’ says Kate, cool as could be. 
 
 “‘You lied to me,’ he roars. 
 
 “Kate laughed in his face. Bland slammed the 
 gun down an’ made a grab fer her. She fought him, 
 but wasn’t a match fer him, an’ he got her by the 
 throat. He choked her till I thought she was 
 strangled. Alloway made him stop. She flopped 
 down on the bed an’ gasped fer a while. When she 
 come to them hard-shelled 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 feel- 
 in’ fer a man to have — to guess pretty nice, but not 
 to be sure. Bland gave it up after a while. An’ 
 then he cussed an’ raved at her. One sayin’ of his 
 is worth pinnin’ in your sombrero: ‘It ain’t nuthin’ 
 to kill a man. I don’t need much fer thet. But 
 I want to know, you hussy!’ 
 
 “Then he went in an’ dragged poor Jen out. 
 She’d had time to dress. He was so mad he hurt 
 her sore leg. You know Jen got thet in jury fightin’ 
 off one of them devils in the dark. An’ when I seen 
 Bland twist her — hurt her — I had a queer hot feelin’ 
 deep down in me, an’ fer the only time in my life 
 I wished I was a gun-fighter. 
 
 “Wal, Jen amazed me. She was whiter ’n a sheet, 
 an’ her eyes were big and stary, but she had nerve. 
 Fust time I ever seen her show any. 
 
 102 
 
THE LONE STAR. RANGER 
 
 'Jennie,’ he said, ‘my wife said Duane came here 
 to see you. I believe she’s lyin’. I think she’s been 
 carrying 8 on with him, an’ I w r ant to know. If she’s 
 been an’ you tell me the truth I’ll let you go. I’ll 
 send you out to Huntsville, where you can com- 
 municate with your friends. I’ll give you money.’ 
 
 “Thet must hev been a hell of a minnit fer Kate 
 Bland. If ever I seen death in a man’s eye I seen 
 it in Bland’s. He loves her. Thet’s the strange 
 part of it. 
 
 “‘Has Duane been cornin’ here to see my wife?’ 
 Bland asked, fierce-like. 
 
 “‘No,’ said Jennie. 
 
 “‘He’s been after you?’ 
 
 “‘Yes.’ 
 
 “‘He has fallen in love with you? Kate said 
 thet.’ 
 
 “‘I — I'm not — I don’t know — he hasn’t told 
 me.’ 
 
 “ ‘But you’re in love with him?’ 
 
 “‘Yes, 8 she said; an’, Buck, if you only could 
 have seen her! She throwed up her head, an’ her 
 eyes were full of fire. Bland seemed dazed at sight 
 of her. An’ Alloway, why, thet little skunk of an 
 outlaw cried right out. He was hit plumb center. 
 He’s in love with Jen. An’ the look of her then was 
 enough to make any feller quit. He jest slunk out 
 of the room. I told you, mebbe, thet he’d been 
 tryin’ to git Bland to marry Jen to him. So even 
 a tough like Alloway can love a woman! 
 
 “Bland stamped up an’ down the room. He sure 
 w r as dyin’ hard. 
 
 “ ‘Jennie,’ he said, once more turnin’ to her. ‘You 
 103 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 swear in fear of your life thet you’re fellin’ truth. 
 Kate’s not in love with Duane? She’s let him come 
 to see you? There’s been nuthin’ between them?’ 
 “‘No. I swear,’ answered Jennie; an’ Bland sat 
 down like a man licked. 
 
 “‘Go to bed, you white-faced — ’ Bland choked 
 on some word or other — a bad one, I reckon — an’ 
 he positively shook in his chair. 
 
 “Jennie went then, an’ Kate began to have hys- 
 terics. An’ your Uncle Euchre ducked his nut out 
 of the door an’ come home.” 
 
 Duane did not have a word to say at the end of 
 Euchre’s long harangue. He experienced relief. 
 4s a matter of fact, he had expected a good deal 
 worse. He thrilled at the thought of Jennie per- 
 juring herself to save that abandoned woman. What 
 mysteries these feminine creatures were! 
 
 “Wal, there’s where our little deal stands now,” 
 resumed Euchre, meditatively. “You know, Buck, 
 as well as me thet if you’d been some feller who 
 hadn’t shown he was a wonder with a gun you’d 
 now be full of lead. If you’d happen to kill Bland 
 an’ Alloway, I reckon you’d be as safe on this here 
 border as you would in Santone. Such is gun fame 
 in this land of the draw.” 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 B OTH men were awake early, silent with the 
 premonition of trouble ahead, thoughtful of 
 the fact that the time for the long-planned action 
 was at hand. It was remarkable that a man as 
 loquacious as Euchre could hold his tongue so long; 
 and this was significant of the deadly nature of the 
 intended deed. During breakfast he said a few 
 words customary in the service of food. At the 
 conclusion of the meal he seemed to come to an end 
 of deliberation. 
 
 “Buck, the sooner the better now,” he declared, 
 with a glint in his eye. “The more time we use up 
 now the less surprised Bland ’ll be.” 
 
 “I’m ready when you are,” replied Duane, quietly, 
 and he rose from the table. 
 
 “Wal, saddle up, then,” went on Euchre, gruffly. 
 “Tie on them two packs I made, one fer each saddle. 
 You can’t tell — mebbe either hoss will be carryin’ 
 double. It’s good they’re both big, strong bosses. 
 Guess thet wasn’t a wise move of your Uncle Euchre’s 
 — bringin’ in your hosses an’ havin’ them ready?” 
 “Euchre, I hope you’re not going to get in bad 
 here. I’m afraid you are. Let me do the rest 
 now,” said Duane. 
 
 The old outlaw eyed him sarcastically. 
 
 “Thet ’d be tumble now, wouldn’t it? If you 
 
 IOC 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 want to know, why, I’m in bad already. I didn’t 
 tell you thet Alloway called me last night. He’s 
 gettin’ wise pretty quick.” 
 
 ‘‘Euchre, you’re going with, me?” queried Duane, 
 suddenly divining the truth. 
 
 “ Wal, I reckon. Either to hell or safe over the 
 mountain! I wisht I was a gun-fighter. I hate to 
 leave here without takin’ a peg at Jackrabbit Ben- 
 son. Now, Buck, you do some hard figgerin’ while 
 I go nosin’ round. It’s pretty early, which ’s all the 
 better.” 
 
 Euchre put on his sombrero, and as he went out 
 Duane saw that he wore a gun-and-cartridge belt. 
 It was the first time Duane had ever seen the out- 
 law armed. 
 
 Duane packed his few belongings into his saddle- 
 bags, and then carried the saddles out to the corral. 
 An abundance of alfalfa in the corral showed that 
 the horses had fared well. They had gotten almost 
 fat during his stay in the valley. He watered them, 
 put on the saddles loosely cinched, and then the 
 bridles. His next move was to fill the two canvas 
 water-bottles. That done, he returned to the cabin 
 to wait. 
 
 At the moment he felt no excitement or agitation 
 of any kind. There was no more thinking and plan- 
 ning 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 hard- 
 ened 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 
 
 106 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 beds. Finally he heard the shuffle of Euchre’s boots 
 on the hard path. The sound was quicker than 
 usual. 
 
 When Euchre came around the corner of the cabin 
 Duane was not so astounded as he was concerned 
 to see the outlaw white and shaking. Sweat dripped 
 from him. He had a wild look. 
 
 “Luck ours — so — fur, Buck!” he panted. 
 
 “You don’t look it,” replied Duane. 
 
 “I’m tumble sick. Jest killed a man. Fust one 
 I ever killed!” 
 
 “Who?” asked Duane, startled. 
 
 “Jackrabbit Benson. An’ sick as I am, I’m glory- 
 in’ in it. I went nosin’ round up the road. Saw 
 Alloway goin’ into Deger’s. He’s thick with the 
 Degers. Reckon he’s askin’ questions. Anyway, 
 I was sure glad to see him away from Bland’s. An’ 
 he didn’t see me. When I dropped into Benson’s 
 there wasn’t nobody there but Jackrabbit an’ some 
 greasers he was startin’ to work. Benson never had 
 no use fer me. An’ he up an’ said he wouldn’t give 
 a two-bit piece fer my life. I asked him why. 
 
 ‘“You’re double-crossin’ the boss an’ Chess,’ he 
 said. 
 
 “‘Jack, what ’d you give fer your own life?’ I 
 asked him. 
 
 “He straightened up surprised an’ mean-lookin’. 
 An’ I let him have it, plumb center! tie wilted, an’ 
 the greasers run. I reckon I’ll never sleep again. 
 But I had to do it.” 
 
 Duane asked if the shot had attracted any atten- 
 tion outside. 
 
 “I didn’t see anybody but the greasers, an’ I sure 
 8 107 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 looked sharp. Cornin’ 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 Jen- 
 nie, with wuss intentions. Anyway, he an’ Kate 
 must have had it hot an’ heavy. We’re pretty 
 lucky.” 
 
 “It seems so. Well, I’m going,” said Duane, 
 tersely. 
 
 “Lucky! I should smile! 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, 
 coo, fer it’s likely he’ll do thet same.” 
 
 “How about the horses?” 
 
 “I’ll fetch them an’ come along about two min- 
 nits 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 
 
 108 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 action. Jennie ain’t much heavier ’n a rabbit. Thet 
 big black will carry you both.” 
 
 “All right. But once more let me persuade you 
 to stay — not to mix any more in this,” said Duane, 
 earnestly. 
 
 “Nope. I’m goin’. You heard what Benson 
 told me. Alloway wouldn’t give me the benefit of 
 any doubts. Buck, a last word — look out fer thet 
 Bland woman!” 
 
 Duane merely nodded, and then, saying that the 
 horses were ready, he strode away through the grove. 
 Accounting for the short cut across grove and field, 
 it was about five minutes’ walk up to Bland’s house. 
 To Duane it seemed long in time and distance, and 
 he had difficulty in restraining his pace. As he 
 walked there came a gradual and subtle change in 
 his feelings. Again he was going out to meet a man 
 in conflict. He could have avoided this meeting. 
 But despite the fact of his courting the encounter 
 he had not as yet felt that hot, inexplicable rush of 
 blood. The motive of this deadly action was not 
 personal, and somehow that made a difference. 
 
 No outlaws were in sight. He saw several Mexi- 
 can 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 sun- 
 light. 
 
 Then he entered Bland’s lane. 
 
 While yet some distance from the cabin he heard 
 loud, angry voices of man and woman. Bland and 
 Kate still quarreling! He took a quick survey of 
 
 109 
 
THE LONE STAR RANKER 
 
 the surroundings. There was now not even a 
 Mexican in sight. Then he hurried a little. Half- 
 way down the lane he turned his head to peer 
 through the cottonwoods. This time he saw Euchre 
 coming with the horses. There was no indication 
 that the old outlaw might lose his nerve at the end. 
 Duane had feared this. 
 
 Duane now changed his walk to a leisurely saunter. 
 He reached the porch and then distinguished what 
 was said inside the cabin. 
 
 “If you do, Bland, by Heaven I’ll fix you and 
 her!” That was panted out in Kate Bland’s full 
 voice. 
 
 “Let me loose! I’m going in there, I tell you!” 
 replied Bland, hoarsely. 
 
 “What for?” 
 
 “I want to make a little love to her. Ha! ha! 
 It ’ll be fun to have the laugh on her new lover.” 
 
 “You lie!” cried Kate Bland. 
 
 “I’m not saying what I’ll do to her afterward!” 
 His voice grew hoarser with passion. “Let me 
 go now!” 
 
 “No! no! I won’t let you go. You’ll choke the 
 — the truth out of her — you’ll kill her.” 
 
 “The truth!” hissed Bland. 
 
 “Yes. I lied. Jen lied. But she lied to save 
 me. You needn’t — murder her — for that.” 
 
 Bland cursed horribly. Then followed a wrestling 
 sound of bodies in violent straining contact — the 
 scrape of feet — the jangle of spurs — a crash of slid- 
 ing table or chair, and then the cry of a woman in 
 pain. 
 
 Duane stepped into the open door, inside the 
 no 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 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, shud- 
 dering cry. Then he called out loud and clear. 
 
 With cat-like swiftness Bland wheeled, then froze 
 on the threshold. His sight, quick as his action, 
 caught Duane’s menacing, unmistakable position. 
 
 Bland’s big frame filled the door. He was in a 
 bad place to reach for his gun. But he would not 
 have time for a step. Duane read in his eyes the 
 desperate calculation of chances. For a fleeting in- 
 stant 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 ex- 
 ploding as it hit into the floor, and dropped loose 
 from stretching fingers. Duane stood over him, 
 stooped to turn him on his back. Bland looked up 
 with clouded gaze, then gasped his last. 
 
 “Duane, you’ve killed him!” cried Kate Bland, 
 huskily. “I knew you’d have to!” 
 
 She staggered against the wall, her eyes dilating, 
 her strong hands clenching, her face slowly whitening. 
 She appeared shocked, half stunned, but showed no 
 grief. 
 
 “Jennie!” called Duane, sharply. 
 
 “Oh — Duane!” came a halting reply. 
 
 “Yes. Come out. , Hurry!” 
 
 She came out with uneven steps, seeing only him, 
 and she stumbled over Bland’s body. Duane caught 
 her arm, swung her behind him. Fie feared the 
 
 in 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 woman when she realized how she had been duped. 
 His action was protective, and his' movement toward 
 the door equally as significant. 
 
 “Duane!” cried Mrs. Bland. 
 
 It was no time for talk. Duane edged on, keep- 
 ing Jennie behind him. At that moment there was 
 a pounding of iron-shod hoofs out in the lane. Kate 
 Bland bounded to the door. When she turned back 
 her amazement was changing to realization. 
 
 “Where ’re you taking Jen?” she cried, her voice 
 like a man’s. 
 
 “Get out of my way,” replied Duane. His look 
 perhaps, without speech, was enough for her. In 
 an instant she was transformed into a fury. 
 
 “You hound! All the time you were fooling me! 
 You made love to me! You let me believe — you 
 swore you loved me! Now I see what was queer 
 about you. All for that girl! But you can’t have 
 her. You’ll never leave here alive. Give me that 
 girl! Let me — get at her! She’ll never win any 
 more men in this camp.” 
 
 She was a powerful woman, and it took all Duane’s 
 strength to ward off her onslaughts. She clavred at 
 Jennie over his upheld arm. Every second her fury 
 increased. 
 
 “Help! kelp! 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 cool- 
 ness had gone with her shriek for help. “Let go!” 
 he repeated, and he shoved her fiercely. 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 Suddenly she snatched a rifle off the wall and 
 backed away, her strong hands fumbling at the 
 lever. As she jerked it down, throwing a shell into 
 the chamber and cocking the weapon, Duane leaped 
 upon her. He struck up the rifle as it went off, the 
 powder burning his face. 
 
 “Jennie, run out! Get on a horse!” he said. 
 
 Jennie flashed out of the door. 
 
 With an iron grasp Duane held to the rifle-barrel. 
 He had grasped it with his left hand, and he gave 
 such a pull that he swung the crazed woman off the 
 floor. But he could not loose her grip. She was as 
 strong as he. 
 
 “Kate! Let go!” 
 
 He tried to intimidate her. She did not see his 
 gun thrust in her face, or reason had given way to 
 such an extent to passion that she did not care. 
 She cursed. Her husband had used the same curses, 
 and from her lips they seemed strange, unsexed, 
 more deadly. Like a tigress she fought him; her 
 face no longer resembled a woman’s. The evil of 
 that outlaw life, the wildness and rage, the meaning 
 to kill, was even in such a moment terribly impressed 
 upon Duane. 
 
 He heard a cry from outside — a man’s cry, hoarse 
 and alarming. 
 
 It made him think of loss of time. This demon of 
 a woman might yet block his plan. 
 
 “Let go!” he whispered, and felt his lips stiff 
 In the grimness of that instant he relaxed his hold 
 on the rifle-barrel. 
 
 With sudden, redoubled, irresistible strength she 
 wrenched the rifle down and discharged it. Duane 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 felt a blow — a shock — a burning agony tearing 
 through his breast. Then in a frenzy he jerked so 
 powerfully upon the rifle that he threw the woman 
 against the wall. She fell and seemed stunned. 
 
 Duane leaped back, whirled, flew out of the door 
 to the porch. The sharp cracking of a gun halted 
 him. He saw Jennie holding to the bridle of his 
 bay horse. Euchre was astride the other, and he 
 had a Colt leveled, and he was firing down the lane. 
 Then came a single shot, heavier, and Euchre’s 
 ceased. He fell from the horse. 
 
 A swift glance back showed to Duane a man 
 coming down the lane. Chess Alloway! His gun 
 was smoking. He broke into a run. Then in an 
 instant he saw Duane, and tried to check his pace 
 as he swung up his arm. But that slight pause was 
 fatal. Duane shot, and Alloway was falling when 
 his gun went off. His bullet whistled close to 
 Diiane and thudded into the cabin. 
 
 Duane bounded down to the horses. Jennie was 
 trying to hold the plunging bay. Euchre lay flat 
 on his back, dead, a bullet-hole in his shirt, his face 
 set hard, and his hands twisted round gun and 
 bridle. 
 
 “Jennie, you’ve nerve, all right!’’ cried Duane, as 
 he dragged down the horse she was holding. “Up 
 with you now! There! Never mind — long stir- 
 rups! Hang on somehow!” 
 
 He caught his bridle out of Euchre’s clutching 
 grip and leaped astride. The frightened horses 
 jumped into a run and thundered down the lane 
 into the road. Duane saw men running from cabins. 
 He heard shouts. But there were no shots fired. 
 
 114 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 Jennie seemed able to stay on her horse, but with- 
 out stirrups she was thrown about so much that 
 Duane rode closer and reached out to grasp her 
 arm. 
 
 Thus they rode through the valley to the trail 
 that led up over the steep and broken Rim Rock. 
 As they began to climb Duane looked back. No pur- 
 suers were in sight. 
 
 “Jennie, we’re going to get away!” he cried, 
 exultation for her in his voice. 
 
 She was gazing horror-stricken at his breast, as in 
 turning to look back he faced her. 
 
 “Oh, Duane, your shirt’s all bloody!” she faltered, 
 pointing with trembling fingers. 
 
 With her words Duane became aware of two 
 things — the hand he instinctively placed to his 
 breast still held his gun, and he had sustained a 
 terrible wound. 
 
 Duane had been shot through the breast far 
 enough down to give him grave apprehension of his 
 life. The clean-cut hole made by the bullet bled 
 freely both at its entrance and where it had come 
 out, but with no signs of hemorrhage. He did not 
 bleed at the mouth; however, he began to cough 
 up a reddish-tinged foam. 
 
 As they rode on Jennie, with pale face and mute 
 lips, looked at him. 
 
 “I’m badly hurt, Jennie,” he said, “but I guess I’ll 
 stick it out.” 
 
 “The woman — did she shoot you?” 
 
 “Yes. - She was a devil. Euchre told me to look 
 out for her. I wasn’t quick enough.” 
 
 “You didn’t have to — to — ” shivered the girl. 
 
 ns 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “No! no!” he replied. 
 
 They did not stop climbing while Duane tore a 
 scarf and made compresses, which he bound tightly 
 over his wounds. The fresh horses made fast time 
 up the rough trail. From open places Duane looked 
 down. When they surmounted the steep ascent 
 and stood on top of the Rim Rock, with no signs 
 of pursuit down in the valley, and with the wild, 
 broken fastnesses before them, Duane turned to the 
 girl and assured her that th'ey now had every chance 
 of escape. 
 
 “But — your — wound!” she faltered, with dark, 
 troubled eyes. “I see — the blood — dripping from 
 your back!” 
 
 “Jennie, I’ll take a lot of killing,” he said. 
 
 Then he became silent and attended to the un- 
 even 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 con- 
 siderable 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 en- 
 durance. 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 trad that appeared seldom traveled. 
 
 116 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 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 Jen- 
 nie, so in case she was left alone she would have 
 some idea of what to do. 
 
 “Jennie, I’ll give out soon,” he said. “No — I 
 don’t mean — what you think. But I’ll drop soon. 
 My strength’s going. If I die — you ride back to 
 the main trail. Hide and rest by day. Ride at 
 night. That trail goes to water. I believe you 
 could get across the Nueces, where some rancher 
 will take you in.” 
 
 Duane could not get the meaning of her incoherent 
 reply. He rode on, and soon he could not see the 
 trail or hear his horse. He did not know whether 
 they traveled a mile or many times that far. But 
 he was conscious when the horse stopped, and had 
 a vague sense of falling and feeling Jennie’s arms 
 before all became dark to him. 
 
 When consciousness returned he found himself 
 lying in a little hut of mesquite branches. It was 
 well built and evidently some years old. There were 
 two doors or openings, one in front and the other at 
 the back. Duane imagined it had been built by a 
 fugitive — one who meant to keep an eye both ways 
 and not to be surprised. Duane felt weak and 
 had no desire to move. Where was he, anyway? 
 A strange, intangible sense of time, distance, of 
 something far behind weighed upon him. Sight of 
 the two packs Euchre had made brought his thought 
 to Jennie. What had become of her? There was 
 evidence of her work in a smoldering fire and a 
 
 ii7 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 little blackened coffee-pot. Probably she was out- 
 side looking after the horses or getting water. He 
 thought he heard a step and listened, but he felt 
 tired, and presently his eyes closed and he fell into 
 a doze. 
 
 Awakening from this, he saw Jennie sitting beside 
 him. In some way she seemed to have changed. 
 When he spoke she gave a start and turned eagerly 
 to him. 
 
 “Duane!” she cried. 
 
 “Hello. How ’re you, Jennie, and how am I?” 
 he said, finding it a little difficult to talk. 
 
 “Oh, I’m all right,” she replied. “And you’ve 
 come to — your wound’s healed; but you’ve been 
 sick. Fever, I guess. I did all I could.” 
 
 Duane saw now that the difference in her was a 
 whiteness and tightness of skin, a hollowness of eye, 
 a look of strain. 
 
 “Fever? How long have we been here?” he asked. 
 
 She took some pebbles from the crown of his som- 
 brero and counted them. 
 
 “Nine. Nine days,” she answered. 
 
 “Nine days!” he exclaimed, incredulously. But 
 another look at her assured him that she meant 
 what she said. “I’ve been sick all the time? You 
 nursed me?” 
 
 “Yes.” 
 
 “Bland’s men didn’t come along here?” 
 
 “No.” 
 
 “Where are the horses?” 
 
 “I keep them grazing down in a gorge back of 
 here. There’s good grass and water.” 
 
 “Have you slept any?” 
 
 118 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “A little. Lately I couldn’t keep awake.” 
 
 “Good Lord! I should think not. You’ve had 
 a time of it sitting here day and night nursing 
 me, watching for the outlaws. Come, tell me all 
 about it.” 
 
 “There’s nothing much to tell.” 
 
 “I want to know, anyway, just what you did — 
 how you felt.” 
 
 “I can’t remember very well,” she replied, simply. 
 “We must have ridden forty miles that day we got 
 away. You bled all the time. Toward evening 
 you lay on your horse’s neck. When we came to 
 this place you fell out of the saddle. I dragged you 
 in here and stopped your bleeding. I thought you’d 
 die that night. But in the morning I had a little 
 hope. I had forgotten the horses. But luckily they 
 didn’t stray far. I caught them and kept them 
 down in the gorge. When your wounds closed and 
 you began to breathe stronger I thought you’d get 
 well quick. It was fever that put you back. You 
 raved a lot, and that worried me, because I couldn’t 
 stop you. Anybody trailing us could have heard 
 you a good ways. I don’t know whether I was 
 scared most then or when you were quiet, and it was 
 so dark and lonely and still all around. Every day 
 ,1 put a stone in your hat.” 
 
 “Jennie, you saved my life,” said Duane. 
 
 “I don’t know. Maybe. I did all I knew how 
 to do,” she replied. “You saved mine — more than 
 my life.” 
 
 Their eyes met in a long gaze, and then their hands 
 in a close clasp. 
 
 “Jennie, we’re going to get away,” he said, with 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 gladness. “I’ll be well in a few days. You don’t 
 know how strong I am. We’ll hide by day and travel 
 by night. I can get you across the river.” 
 
 “And then?” she asked. 
 
 “We’ll find some honest rancher.” 
 
 “And then?” she persisted. 
 
 “Why,” he began, slowly, “that’s as far as my 
 thoughts ever got. It was pretty hard, I tell you, 
 to assure myself of so much. It means your safety. 
 You’ll tell your story. You’ll be sent to some vil- 
 lage or town and taken care of until a relative or 
 friend is notified.” 
 
 “And you?” she inquired, in a strange voice. 
 
 Duane kept silence. 
 
 “What will you do?” she went on. 
 
 “Jennie, I’ll go back to the brakes. I daren’t 
 show my face among respectable people. I’m an 
 outlaw.” 
 
 “You’re no criminal!” she declared, with deep 
 passion. 
 
 “Jennie, on this border the little difference be- 
 tween an outlaw and a criminal doesn’t count for 
 much.” 
 
 “You won’t go back among those terrible men? 
 You, with your gentleness and sweetness — all that’s 
 good about you? Oh, Duane, don’t — don’t go!” 
 
 “I can’t go back to the outlaws, at least not 
 Bland’s band. No, I’ll go alone. I’ll lone-wolf it, 
 as they say on the border. What else can I do, 
 Jennie?” 
 
 “ Oh, I don’t know. Couldn’t you hide? Couldn’t 
 you slip out of Texas — go far away?” 
 
 “I could never get out of Texas without being 
 
 120 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 arrested. I could hide, but a man must live. Never 
 mind about me, Jennie.” 
 
 In three days Duane was able with great diffi- 
 culty to mount his horse. During daylight, by 
 short relays, he and Jennie rode back to the main 
 trail, where they hid again till he had rested. Then 
 in the dark they rode out of the canons and gullies 
 of the Rim Rock, and early in the morning halted 
 at the first water to camp. 
 
 From that point they traveled after nightfall and 
 went into hiding during the day. Once across the 
 Nueces River, Duane was assured of safety for her 
 and great danger for himself. They had crossed 
 into a country he did not know. Somewhere east 
 of the river there were scattered ranches. But he 
 was as liable to find the rancher in touch with the 
 outlaws as he was likely to find him honest. Duane 
 hoped his good fortune would not desert him in 
 this last service to Jennie. Next to the worry of 
 that was realization of his condition. He had gotten 
 up too soon; he had ridden too far and hard, and 
 now he felt that any moment he might fall from 
 his saddle. At last, far ahead over a barren mesquite- 
 dotted stretch of dusty ground, he espied a patch of 
 green and a little flat, red ranch-house. He headed 
 his horse for it and turned a face he tried to make 
 cheerful for Jennie’s sake. She seemed both happy 
 and sorry. 
 
 When near at hand he saw that the rancher was 
 a thrifty farmer. And thrift spoke for honesty. 
 There were fields of alfalfa, fruit-trees, corrals, wind- 
 mill pumps, irrigation - ditches, all surrounding a 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 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 iso- 
 lated lives. Duane saw a woman come to the door, 
 then a man. The latter looked keenly, then stepped 
 outside. He was a sandy-haired, freckled Texan. 
 
 “Howdy, stranger,” he called, as Duane halted. 
 “Get down, you an’ your woman. Say, now, air 
 you sick or shot of what? Let me — ” 
 
 Duane, reeling in his saddle, bent searching eyes 
 upon the rancher. He thought he saw good will, 
 kindness, honesty. He risked all on that one sharp 
 glance. Then he almost plunged from the saddle. 
 
 The rancher caught him, helped him to a bench. 
 
 ‘ * Martha, come out here !” he called. ‘ ‘ This man’s 
 sick. No; he’s shot, or I don’t know blood-stains.” 
 
 Jennie had slipped off her horse and to Duane’s 
 side. Duane appeared about to faint. 
 
 “Air you his wife?” asked the rancher. 
 
 “No. I’m only a girl he saved from outlaws. 
 Oh, he’s so pale! Duane, Duane!” 
 
 “Buck Duane!” exclaimed the rancher, excitedly. 
 “The man who killed Bland an’ Alio way? Say, 
 I owe him a good turn, an’ I’ll pay it, young 
 woman.” 
 
 The rancher’s wife came out, and with a manner 
 at once kind and practical essayed to make Duane 
 drink from a flask. He was not so far gone that he 
 could not recognize its contents, which he refused, 
 and weakly asked for water. When that was given 
 him he found his voice. 
 
 “Yes, I’m Duane. I’ve only overdone myself — 
 just all in. The wounds I got at Bland’s are healing. 
 
 122 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 Will you take this girl in — hide her awhile till the 
 excitement’s over among the outlaws?” 
 
 “I shore will,” replied the Texan. 
 
 ‘ Thanks. I’ll remember you — I’ll square it.” 
 ‘‘What ’re you goin’ to do?” 
 
 ‘Til rest a bit — then go back to the brakes.” 
 ‘‘Young man, you ain’t in any shape to travel. 
 See here — any rustlers on your trail?” 
 
 ‘‘I think we gave Bland’s gang the slip.” 
 
 ‘‘Good. I’ll tell you what. I’ll take you in along 
 with the girl, an’ hide both of you till you get well. 
 It ’ll be safe. My nearest neighbor is five miles 
 off. We don’t have much company.” 
 
 ‘‘You risk a great deal. Both outlaws and rangers 
 are hunting me,” said Duane. 
 
 ‘‘Never seen a ranger yet in these parts. An’ 
 have always got along with outlaws, mebbe exceptin’ 
 Bland. I tell you I owe you a good turn.” 
 
 ‘‘My horses might betray you,” added Duane. 
 “I’ll hide them in a place where there’s water an’ 
 grass. Nobody goes to it. Come now, let me help 
 you indoors.” 
 
 Duane’s last fading sensations of that hard day 
 were the strange feel of a bed, a relief at the removal 
 of his heavy boots, and of Jennie’s soft, cool hands 
 on his hot face. 
 
 He lay ill for three weeks before he began to mend, 
 and it was another week then before he could walk 
 out a little in the dusk of the evenings. After that 
 his strength returned rapidly. And it was only at 
 the end of this long siege that he recovered his spirits. 
 During most of his illness he had been silent, moody. 
 
 9 123 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “Jennie, I’ll be riding off soon,” he said, one even- 
 ing. “I can’t impose on this good man Andrews 
 much longer. I’ll never forget his kindness. His 
 wife, too — she’s been so good to us. Yes, Jennie, 
 you and I will have to say good-by very soon.” 
 
 “Don’t hurry away,” she replied. 
 
 Lately Jennie had appeared strange to him. She 
 had changed from the girl he used to see at Mrs, 
 Bland’s house. He took her reluctance to say good- 
 by as another indication of her regret that he must 
 go back to the brakes. Yet somehow it made him 
 observe her more closely. She wore a plain, white 
 dress made from material Mrs. Andrews had given 
 her. Sleep and good food had improved her. If 
 she had been pretty out there in the outlaw den, 
 now she was more than that. But she had the same 
 paleness, the same strained look, the same dark 
 eyes full of haunting shadows. After Duane’s reali- 
 zation of the change in her he watched her more, 
 with a growing certainty that he would be sorry 
 not to see her again. 
 
 “It’s likely we won’t ever see each other again,” 
 he said. “That’s strange to think of. We’ve been 
 through some hard days, and I seem to have known 
 you a long time.” 
 
 Jennie appeared shy, almost sad, so Duane changed 
 the subject to something less personal. 
 
 Andrews returned one evening from a several 
 days’ trip to Huntsville. 
 
 “Duane, everybody’s talkin’ about how you 
 cleaned up the Bland outfit,” he said, important 
 and full of news. “It’s some exaggerated, accordin' 
 
 124 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 to what yxi 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 movin’ his camp over to Bland’s. But I 
 don’t know how true it is. I reckon there ain’t much 
 to it. In the past when a big outlaw chief went 
 under, his band almost always broke up an’ scattered. 
 There’s no one left who could run thet outfit.” 
 
 ‘‘Did you hear of any outlaws hunting me?” asked 
 Duane. 
 
 ‘‘Nobody from Bland’s outfit is huntin’ you, thet’s 
 shore,” replied Andrews “Fisher said there never 
 was a hoss straddled to go on your trail. Nobody 
 had any use for Bland. Anyhow, his men would 
 be afraid to trail you. An’ you could go right in to 
 Huntsville, where you’d be some popular. Reckon 
 you’d be safe, too, except when some of them fool 
 saloon loafers or bad cowpunchers would try to 
 shoot you for the glory in it. Them kind of men 
 will bob up everywhere you go, Duane.” 
 
 “I’ll be able to ride and take care of myself in a 
 day or two,” went on Duane. “Then I’ll go — I’d 
 like to talk to you about Jennie.” 
 
 “She’s welcome to a home here with us.” 
 
 125 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “Thank you, Andrews. You’re a klad man. 
 But I want Jennie to get farther away from the Rio 
 Grande. She’d never be safe here. Besides, she 
 may be able to find relatives. She has some, though 
 she doesn’t know where they are.” 
 
 “All right, Duane. Whatever you think best. 1 
 reckon now you’d better take her to some town. 
 Go north an’ strike for Shelbyville or Crockett 
 Them’s both good towns. I’ll tell Jennie the names 
 of men who’ll help her. You needn’t ride into town 
 at all.” 
 
 ‘ ‘ Which place is nearer, and how far is it?” 
 
 “Shelbyville. I reckon about two days’ ride. 
 Poor stock country, so you ain’t liable to meet 
 rustlers. All the same, better hit the trail at 
 night an’ go careful.” 
 
 At sunset two days later Duane and Jennie mount- 
 ed their horses a,nd said good-by to the rancher and 
 his wife. Andrews would not listen to Duane’s 
 thanks. 
 
 “I tell you I’m beholden to you yet,” he de- 
 clared. 
 
 “Well, what can I do for you?” asked Duane. “I 
 may come along here again some day.” 
 
 “Get down an’ come in, then, or you’re no friend 
 of mine. I reckon there ain’t nothin’ I can think 
 of — ■ I just happen to remember — ” Here he led 
 Duane out of earshot of the women and went on in 
 a whisper. “Buck, I used to be well-to-do. Got 
 skinned by a man named Brown — Rodney Brown. 
 He lives in Huntsville, an’ he’s my enemy. I never 
 was much on fightin’, or I’d fixed him. Brown ruined 
 me — stole all I had. He’s a hoss an’ cattle thief. 
 126 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 an’ he has pull enough at home to protect him. I 
 reckon I needn’t say any more.” 
 
 ‘ ‘ Is this Brown a man who shot an outlaw named 
 Stevens?” queried Duane, curiously. 
 
 ‘‘Shore, he’s the same. I heard thet story. Brown 
 swears he plugged Stevens through the middle. But 
 the outlaw rode off, an’ nobody ever knew for shore.” 
 “Luke Stevens died of that shot. I buried him,” 
 said Duane. 
 
 Andrews made no further comment, and the two 
 men returned to the women. 
 
 “The main road for about three miles, then where 
 it forks take the left-hand road and keep on straight. 
 That what you said, Andrews?” 
 
 “Shore. An’ good luck to you both!” 
 
 Duane and Jennie trotted away into the gather- 
 ing 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 danger- 
 ous he really was — to men and to himself. Some- 
 times he had a feeling of how little stood between 
 his sane and better self and a self utterly wild and 
 terrible. He reasoned that only intelligence could 
 save him — only a thoughtful understanding of his 
 danger and a hold upon some ideal. 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 Then he fell into low conversation with Jennie, 
 holding out hopeful views of her future, and pres- 
 ently 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 '•'his point he came to where the 
 road split. 
 
 Once headvt m 2he 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 any- 
 thing, growing thicker. Duane grew uncomfortably 
 wet and chilly. Jennie, however, fared somewhat 
 better by reason of the heavy coat. The night 
 passed quickly despite the discomfort, and soon a 
 gray, dismal, rainy dawn greeted the travelers. 
 
 Jennie insisted that he find some shelter where a 
 fire could be built to dry his clothes. He was not 
 in a fit condition to risk catching cold. In fact, 
 Duane’s teeth were chattering. To find a shelter 
 
 128 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 in that barren waste seemed a futile task. Quite 
 unexpectedly, however, they happened upon a de- 
 serted adobe cabin situated a little off the road. 
 Not only did it prove to have a dry interior, but also 
 there was firewood. Water was available in pools 
 everywhere; however, there was no grass for the 
 horses. 
 
 A good fire and hot food and drink changed the 
 aspect of their condition as far as comfort went. 
 And Jennie lay down to sleep. For Duane, however, 
 there must be vigilance. This cabin was no hiding- 
 place. The rain fell harder all the time, and the 
 wind changed to the north. “It’s a norther, all 
 right,” muttered Duane. “Two or three days.” 
 And he felt that his extraordinary luck had not held 
 out. Still one point favored him, and it was that 
 travelers were not likely to come along during the 
 storm. 
 
 Jennie slept while Duane watched. The saving 
 of this girl meant more to him than any task he had 
 ever assumed. First it had been partly from a 
 human feeling to succor an unfortunate woman, and 
 partly a motive to establish clearly to himself that 
 he was no outlaw. Lately, however, had come a 
 different sense, a strange one, with something per- 
 sonal and warm and protective in it. 
 
 As he looked down upon her, a slight, slender girl 
 with bedraggled dress and disheveled hair, her face, 
 pale and quiet, a little stern in sleep, and her long, 
 dark lashes lying on her cheek, he seemed to see her 
 fragility, her prettiness, her femininity as never be- 
 fore. But for him she might at that very moment 
 have been a broken, ruined girl lying back in that 
 
 129 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 cabin of the Blands’. The fact gave him a feeling 
 of his importance in this shifting of her destiny. 
 She was unharmed, still young; she would forget 
 and be happy ; she would live to be a good wife and 
 mother. Somehow the thought swelled his heart. 
 His act, death-dealing as it had been, was a noble 
 one, and helped him to hold on to his drifting hopes. 
 Hardly once since Jennie had entered into his thought 
 had those ghosts returned to torment him. 
 
 To-morrow she would be gone among good, kind 
 people with a possibility of finding her relatives. 
 He thanked God for that; nevertheless, he felt a 
 pang. 
 
 She slept more than half the day. Duane kept 
 guard, always alert, whether he was sitting, standing, 
 or walking. The rain pattered steadily on the roof 
 and sometimes came in gusty flurries through the 
 door. The horses were outside in a shed that af- 
 forded poor shelter, and they stamped restlessly. 
 Duane kept them saddled and bridled. 
 
 About the middle of the afternoon Jennie awoke. 
 They cooked a meal and afterward sat beside the 
 little fire. She had never been, in his observation 
 of her, anything but a tragic figure, an unhappy girl, 
 the farthest removed from serenity and poise. That 
 characteristic capacity for agitation struck him as 
 stronger in her this day. He attributed it, however, 
 to the long strain, the suspense nearing an end. 
 Yet sometimes when her eyes were on him she did 
 not seem to be thinking of her freedom, of her future. 
 
 “This time to-morrow you’ll be in Shelby ville,” 
 he said. 
 
 “Where will you be?” she asked, quickly. 
 
 130 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “Me? Oh, I’ll be making tracks for some lone- 
 some place,” he replied. 
 
 The girl shuddered. 
 
 “I’ve been brought up in Texas. I remember 
 what a hard lot the men of my family had. But 
 poor as they were, they had a roof over their heads, 
 a hearth with a fire, a warm bed — somebody to love 
 them. And you, Duane — oh, my God! What must 
 your life be? You must ride and hide and watch 
 eternally. No decent food, no pillow, no friendly 
 word, no clean clothes, no woman’s hand! Horses, 
 guns, trails, rocks, holes — these must be the im- 
 portant things in your life. You must go on riding, 
 hiding, killing until you meet — ” 
 
 She ended with a sob and dropped her head on her 
 knees. Duane was amazed, deeply touched. 
 
 “My girl, thank you for that thought of me,” he 
 said, with a tremor in his voice. “You don’t know 
 how much that means to me.” 
 
 She raised her face, and it was tear-stained, elo- 
 quent, beautiful. 
 
 “I’ve heard tell — the best of men go to the bad 
 out there. You won’t. Promise me you won’t. I 
 never — knew any man — like you. I — I — we may 
 never see each other again — after to-day. I’ll never 
 forget you. I’ll pray for you, and I’ll never give 
 up trying to — to do something. Don’t despair. 
 It’s never too late. It was my hope that kept me 
 alive — out there at Bland’s — before you came. I 
 was only a poor weak girl. But if I could hope — 
 so can you. Stay away from men. Be a lone wolf. 
 Fight for your life. Stick out your exile — and may- 
 be — some day — ” 
 
 131 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 Then she lost her voice. Duane clasped her hand 
 and with feeling as deep as hers promised to remem- 
 ber her words. In her despair for him she had spoken 
 wisdom — pointed out the only course. 
 
 Duane's vigilance, momentarily broken by emo- 
 tion, had no sooner reasserted itself than he dis- 
 covered the bay horse, the one Jennie rode, had 
 broken his halter and gone off. The soft wet earth 
 had deadened the sound of his hoofs. His tracks were 
 plain in the mud. There were clumps of mesquite 
 in sight, among which the horse might have strayed. 
 It turned out, however, that he had not done so. 
 
 Duane did not want to leave Jennie alone in the 
 cabin so near the road. So he put her up on his horse 
 and bade her follow. The rain had ceased for the 
 time being, though evidently the storm was not yet 
 over. The tracks led up a wash to a wide flat where 
 mesquite, prickly pear, and thorn -bush grew so 
 thickly that Jennie could not ride into it. Duane 
 was thoroughly concerned., He must have her 
 horse. Time was flying. It would soon be night. 
 He could not expect her to scramble quickly through 
 that brake on foot. Therefore he decided to risk 
 leaving her at the edge of the thicket and go in alone. 
 
 As he went in a sound startled him. Was it the 
 breaking of a branch he had stepped on or thrust 
 aside? He heard the impatient pound of his horse’s 
 hoofs. Then all was quiet. Still he listened, not 
 wholly satisfied. He was never satisfied in regard 
 to safety; he knew too well that there never could 
 be safety for him in this country. 
 
 The bay horse had threaded the aisles of the 
 thicket. Duane wondered what ha, \ Irawn him 
 
 132 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 there. Certainly it had not been grass, for there 
 was none. Presently he heard the horse tramping 
 along, and then he ran. The mud was deep, and the 
 sharp thorns made going difficult. He came up 
 with the horse, and at the same moment crossed a 
 multitude of fresh horse-tracks. 
 
 He bent lower to examine them, and was alarmed 
 to find that they had been made very recently, even 
 since it had ceased raining. They were tracks of 
 well-shod horses. Duane straightened up with a 
 cautious glance all around. His instant decision was 
 to hurry back to Jennie. But he had come a goodly 
 way through the thicket, and it was impossible to 
 rush back. Once or twice he imagined he heard 
 crashings in the brush, but did not halt to make sure. 
 Certain he was now that some kind of danger 
 threatened. 
 
 Suddenly there came an unmistakable thump of 
 horses’ hoofs off somewhere to the fore. Then a 
 scream rent the air. It ended abruptly. Duane 
 leaped forward, tore his way through the thorny 
 brake. He heard Jennie cry again — an appealing 
 call quickly hushed. It seemed more to his right, 
 and he plunged that way. He burst into a glade 
 where a smoldering fire and ground covered with 
 footprints and tracks showed that campers had late- 
 ly been. Rushing across this, he broke his passage 
 out to the open. But he was too late. His horse had 
 disappeared. Jennie was gone. There were no riders 
 in sight. There was no sound. There was a heavy 
 trail of horses going north. Jennie had been carried 
 off — probably by outlaws. Duane realized that pur- 
 suit was out of the question — that Jennie was lost. 
 
 r 33 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 A HUNDRED miles from the haunts most familiar 
 with Duane’s deeds, far up where the Nueces 
 ran a trickling clear stream between yellow cliffs, 
 stood a small deserted shack of covered mesquite 
 poles. It had been made long ago, but was well 
 preserved. A door faced the overgrown trail, and 
 another faced down into a gorge of dense thickets. 
 On the border fugitives from law and men who hid 
 in fear of some one they had wronged never lived in 
 houses with only one door. 
 
 It Vvas a wild spot, lonely, not fit for human habi- 
 tation except for the outcast. He, perhaps, might 
 have found it hard to leave for most of the other 
 wild nooks in that barren country. Down in the 
 gorge there was never-failing sweet water, grass all 
 the year round, cool, shady retreats, deer, rabbits, 
 turkeys, fruit, and miles and miles of narrow-twist- 
 ing, deep canon full of broken rocks and impene- 
 trable thickets. The scream of the panther was 
 heard there, the squall of the wildcat, the cough of 
 the jaguar. Innumerable bees buzzed in the spring 
 blossoms, and, it seemed, scattered honey to the winds. 
 All day there was continuous song of birds, that of 
 the mocking-bird loud and sweet and mocking above 
 the rest. 
 
 On clear days — and rare indeed were dowdy days 
 
 i34 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 — with the subsiding of the wind, at sunset a hush 
 seemed to fall around the little hut. Par-distant 
 dim-blue mountains stood gold-rimmed gradually 
 to fade with the shading of light. 
 
 At this quiet hour a man climbed up out of the 
 gorge and sat in the westward door of the hut. This 
 lonely watcher of the west and listener to the silence 
 was Duane. And this hut was the one where, three 
 years before, Jennie had nursed him back to life. 
 
 The killing of a man named Sellers, and the com- 
 bination of circumstances that had made the trag- 
 edy 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 abduct- 
 ing of Jennie. He had trailed him long after he had 
 learned Sellers traveled alone. Duane wanted abso- 
 lute assurance of Jennie’s death. Vague rumors, a 
 few words here and there, unauthenticated stories, 
 were all Duane had gathered in years to substantiate 
 his belief — that Jennie died shortly after the begin- 
 ning of her second captivity. But Duane did not 
 know . Jy. 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 un- 
 erringly; it locked his Y, >s and fixed his eyes. 
 
 After that meeting Duane lay long at the ranch- 
 house of a friend, and when he recovered from the 
 wound Sellers had given him he started with two 
 horses and a pack for. the lonely gorge on the Nueces. 
 There he had been hidden for months, a prey to 
 remorse, a dreamer, a victim of phantoms. 
 
 It took work for him to find subsistence in that 
 rocky fastness. And work, action, helped to pass the 
 
 i33 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 hours. But he could not work all the time, even if 
 he had found it to do. Then in his idle moments 
 and at night his task was to live with the hell in 
 his mind. 
 
 The sunset and the twilight hour made all the rest 
 bearable. The little hut on 'the rim of the gorge 
 seemed to hold Jennie’s presence. It was not as 
 if he felt her spirit. If it had been he "would have 
 been sure of her death. He hoped Jennie had not 
 survived her second misfortune; and that intense 
 hope had burned into belief, if not surety. Upon 
 his return to that locality, on the occasion of his first 
 visit to the hut, he had found things just as they 
 had left them, and a poor, faded piece of ribbon 
 Jennie had used to tie around her bright hair. No 
 wandering outlaw or traveler had happened upon 
 the lonely spot, which further endeared it to Duane. 
 
 A .strange feature of this memory of Jennie was the 
 freshness of it — the failure of years, toil, strife, death- 
 dealing to dim it — to deaden the thought of what 
 might have been. He had a marvelous gift of vis- 
 ualization. He could shut his eyes and ^ 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 nev- 
 er 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, beauti- 
 ful 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. 
 
 136 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 He thought of her beauty and sweetness, of the few 
 things which had come to mean to him that she 
 must have loved him; and he trained himself to 
 think of these in preference to her life at Bland’s, 
 the escape with him, and then her recapture, because 
 such memories led to bitter, fruitless pain. He had 
 to fight suffering because it was eating out his heart. 
 
 Sitting there, eyes wide open, he dreamed of the 
 old homestead and his white-haired mother. He 
 saw the old home life, sweetened and filled by dear 
 new faces and added joys, go on before his eyes with 
 him a part of it. 
 
 Then in the inevitable reaction, in the reflux of 
 bitter reality, he would send out a voiceless cry no 
 less poignant because it was silent: “Poor fools 
 No, I shall never see mother again — never go home 
 — never have a home. I am Duane, the Lone Wolf! 
 Oh, God! I wish it were over! These dreams tor- 
 ture me ! What have I to do with a mother, a home, 
 a wife? No bright-haired boy, no dark-eyed girl 
 will ever love me. I am an outlaw/, an outcast, 
 dead to the good and decent world. I am alone — 
 alone. Better be a callous brute or better dead! 
 I shall go mad thinking! Man, what is left to you? 
 A hiding-place like a wolf’s — lonely silent days, 
 lonely nights with phantoms’ Or the trail and the 
 road with their bloody tracks, and then the hard 
 ride, the sleepless, hungry ride to some hole in rocks 
 or brakes. What hellish thing drives me? Why 
 can’t I end it all? What is left? Only that damned 
 unquenchable spirit of the gun-fighter to live — to 
 hang on to miserable life — to have no fear of death, 
 yet to cling like a leach — to die as gun-fighters sel- 
 
 i37 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 dom die, with boots off! Bain, you were first, and 
 you’re long avenged. I’d change with you. And 
 Sellers, you were last, and you’re avenged. And 
 you others — you’re avenged. Lie quiet in your 
 graves and give me peace!” 
 
 But they did not lie quiet in their graves and give 
 him peace. 
 
 A group of specters trooped out of the shadows of 
 dusk and, gathering round him, escorted him to his 
 
 bed. 
 
 When Duane had been riding the trails passion- 
 bent to escape pursuers, or passion-bent in his 
 search, the constant action and toil and exhaustion 
 made him sleep. But when in hiding, as time passed, 
 gradually he required less rest and sleep, and his 
 mind became more active. Little by little his 
 phantoms gained hold on him, and at length, but 
 for the saving power of his dreams, they would have 
 claimed him utterly. 
 
 How many times he had said to himself: “I am 
 an intelligent man. I’m not crazy. I’m in full 
 possession of my faculties. All this is fancy— imag- 
 ination — conscience. I’ve no work, no duty, no 
 ideal, no hope — and my mind is obsessed, thronged 
 with images. And these images naturally are of the 
 men with whom I have dealt. I can’t forget them. 
 They come back to me, hour after hour ; and when 
 my tortured mind grows weak, then maybe I’m not 
 just right till the mood wears out and lets me sleep.” 
 
 So he reasoned as he lay down in his comfortable 
 camp. The night was star-bright above the canon- 
 walls, darkly shadowing down between them. The 
 insects hummed and chirped and thrummed a con- 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 tinuous thick song, low and monotonous. Slow- 
 running water splashed softly over stones in the 
 stream-bed. From far down the canon came the 
 mournful hoot of an owl. The moment he lay down, 
 thereby giving up action for the day, all these things 
 weighed upon him like a great heavy mantle of lone- 
 liness. In truth, they did not constitute loneliness. 
 
 And he could no more have dispelled thought than 
 he could have reached out to touch a cold, bright star. 
 
 He wondered how many outcasts Hire him lay 
 under this star-studded, velvety sky across the fifteen 
 hundred miles of wild country between El Paso and 
 the mouth of the river. A vast wild territory — a 
 refuge for outlaws! Somewhere he had heard or 
 read that the Texas Rangers kept a book with names 
 and records of outlaws — three thousand known out- 
 laws! Yet these could scarcely be half of that un- 
 fortunate horde which had been recruited from all 
 over the states. Duane had traveled from camp 
 to camp, den to den, hiding-place to hiding-place, 
 and he knew these men. Most of them were hope- 
 less criminals; some were avengers; a few were 
 wronged wanderers; and among them occasionally 
 was a man, human in his war, honest as he could 
 be, not yet lost to good. 
 
 But all of them were akin in one sense — their out- 
 lawry; and that starry night they lay with their 
 dark faces up, some in packs like wolves, others alone 
 like the gray wolf who knew no mate. It did not 
 make much difference in Duane’s thought of them 
 that the majority were steeped in crime and brutality, 
 more often than not stupid from rum, incapable of 
 a fine feeling, just lost wild dogs. 
 
 139 
 
 to 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 Duane doubted that there was a man among them 
 who did not realize his moral wreck and ruin. He 
 had met poor, half-witted wretches who knew it. 
 He believed he could enter into their minds and 
 feel the truth of all their lives — the hardened out- 
 law, coarse, ignorant, bestial, who murdered as Bill 
 Black had murdered, who stole for the sake of steal- 
 ing, who craved money to gamble and drink, de- 
 fiantly ready for death, and, like that terrible out- 
 law, Helm, who cried out on the scaffold, “Let her 
 rip!” 
 
 The wild youngsters seeking notoriety and reck- 
 less adventure; the cowboys with a notch on their 
 guns, with boastful pride in the knowledge that they 
 were marked by rangers; the crooked men from the 
 North, defaulters, forgers, murderers, all pale-faced, 
 fiat-chested men not fit for that wilderness and not 
 surviving; the dishonest cattlemen, hand and glove 
 with outlaws, driven from their homes ; the old griz- 
 zled, bow-legged genuine rustlers — all these Duane 
 had come in contact with, had watched and known, 
 and as he felt with them he seemed to see that as 
 their lives were bad, sooner or later to end dismally 
 or tragically, so they must pay some kind of earthly 
 penalty — if not of conscience, then of fear; if not of 
 fear, then of that most terrible of all things to rest- 
 less, active men — pain, the pang of flesh and bone. 
 
 Duane knew, for he had seen them pay. Best of 
 all, moreover, he knew the internal life of the gun- 
 fighter of that select but by no means small class 
 of which he was representative. The world that 
 judged him and his land judged him as a machine, 
 a killing-machine, with only mind enough to hunt, 
 
 I AO 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 to meet, to slay another man. It had taken three 
 endless years for Duane to understand his own 
 father. Duane knew beyond all doubt that the 
 gun-fighters like Bland, like Alloway, like Sellers, 
 men who were evil and had no remorse, no spiritual 
 accusing Nemesis, had something far more torturing 
 to mind, more haunting, more murderous of rest and 
 sleep and peace; and that something was abnormal 
 fear of death. Duane knew this, for he had shot 
 these men; he had seen the quick, dark shadow in 
 eyes, the presentiment that the will could not con- 
 trol, and then the horrible certainty. These men 
 must have been in agony at every meeting with a 
 possible or certain foe — more agony than the hot 
 rend of a bullet. They were haunted, too, haunted 
 by this fear, by every victim calling from the grave 
 that nothing was so inevitable as death, which lurked 
 behind every corner, hid in every shadow, lay deep 
 in the dark tube of every gun. These men could not 
 have a friend ; they could not love or trust a woman. 
 They knew their one chance of holding on to life 
 lay in their own distrust, watchfulness, dexterity, 
 and that hope, by the very nature of their lives, 
 could not be lasting. They had doomed themselves. 
 What, then, could possibly have dwelt in the depths 
 of their minds as they went to their beds on a starry 
 night like this, with mystery in silence and shadow, 
 with time passing surely, and the dark future and 
 its secret approaching every hour — what, then, but 
 hell? 
 
 The hell in Duane’s mind was not fear of man or 
 fear of death. He would have been glad to lay down 
 the burden of life, providing death came naturally. 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 Many times he had prayed for it. But that over- 
 developed, superhuman spirit of defense in him pre- 
 cluded 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, passion- 
 less, 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. Pt was as if they knew more than when 
 they were alive, had learned that life was a divine 
 mysterious gift not to be taken. They thronged 
 about him with their voiceless clamoring, drifted 
 around him with their fading eyes. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 AFTER nearly six months in the Nueces gorge 
 rx the loneliness and inaction of his life drove 
 Duane out upon the trails seeking anything rather 
 than to hide longer alone, a prey to the scourge of 
 his thoughts. The moment he rode into sight of 
 men a remarkable transformation occurred in him. 
 A strange warmth stirred in him — a longing to see 
 the faces of people, to hear their voices — a pleasur- 
 able emotion sad and strange. But it was only a 
 precursor of his old bitter, sleepless, and eternal 
 vigilance. When he hid alone in the brakes he was 
 safe from, all except his deeper, better self; when he 
 escaped from this into the haunts of men his force 
 and will went to the preservation of his life. 
 
 Mercer was the first village he rode into. He had 
 many friends there. Mercer claimed to owe Duane 
 a debt. On the outskirts of the village there was a 
 grave overgrown by brush so that the rude-lettered 
 post which marked it was scarcely visible to Duane 
 as he rode by. He had never read the inscription. 
 But he thought now of Hardin, no other than the 
 erstwhile ally of Bland. For many years Hardin 
 had harassed the stockmen and ranchers in and 
 around Mercer. On an evil day for him he or his 
 outlaws had beaten and robbed a man who once 
 succored Duane when sore in need. Duane met 
 
 143 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 Hardin in the little plaza of the village, called him 
 every name known to border men, taunted him to 
 draw, and killed him in the act. 
 
 Duane went to the house of one Jones, a Texan 
 who had known his father, and there he was warmly 
 received. The feel of an honest hand, the voice of 
 a friend, the prattle of children who were not afraid 
 of him or his gun, good wholesome food, and change 
 of clothes — these things for the time being made 
 a changed man of Duane. To be sure, he did not 
 often speak. The price of his head and the weight of 
 his burden made him silent. But eagerly he drank 
 in all the news that was told him. In the years of 
 his absence from home he had never heard a word 
 about his mother or uncle. Those who were his real 
 friends on the border would have been the last to 
 make inquiries, to write or receive letters that might 
 give a clue to Duane’s whereabouts. 
 
 Duane remained all day with this hospitable 
 Jones, and as twilight fell was loath to go and yield- 
 ed to a pressing invitation to remain overnight. It 
 was seldom indeed that Duane slept under a roof. 
 Early in the evening, while Duane sat on the porch 
 with two awed and hero-worshiping sons of the house, 
 Jones returned from a quick visit down to the post- 
 office. Summarily he sent the boys off. He labored 
 under intense excitement. 
 
 “Duane, there’s rangers in town,” he whispered. 
 “It’s all over town, too, that you’re here. You rode 
 in long after sunup. Lots of people saw you. I don’t 
 believe there’s a man or boy that ’d squeal on you. 
 But the women might. They gossip, and these ran- 
 gers are handsome fellows — devils with the -women.” 
 
 144 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “What company of rangers?” asked Duane 
 quietly. 
 
 “Company A, tinder 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 won- 
 ders. He’s cleaned up some bad places south, and 
 he’s working north.” 
 
 “MacNelly. I’ve heard of him. Describe him 
 to me.” 
 
 “Slight-built chap, but wiry and tough. Clean 
 face, black mustache and hair. Sharp black eyes. 
 He’s got a look of authority. MacNelly ’s a fine 
 man, Duane. Belongs to a good Southern family. 
 I’d hate to have him look you up.” 
 
 Duane did not speak. 
 
 “ MacNelly ’s got nerve, and his rangers are all 
 experienced men. If they find out you’re here 
 they’ll come after you. MacNelly’s no gun-fighter, 
 but he wouldn’t hesitate to do his duty, even if he 
 faced sure death. Which he would in this case. 
 Duane, you mustn’t meet Captain MacNelly. Your 
 record is clean, if it is terrible. You never met a 
 ranger or any officer except a rotten sheriff now and 
 then, like Rod Brown.” 
 
 Still Duane kept silence. He was not thinking of 
 danger, but of the fact of how fleeting must be his 
 stay among friends. 
 
 “Fve 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 words when soft, 
 swift footsteps sounded on the hard path. A man 
 turned in at the gate. The light was dim, yet clean 
 
 US 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 enough to disclose an unusually tall figure. When 
 it appeared nearer he was seen to be walking with 
 both arms raised, hands high. He slowed his stride. 
 
 “Does Burt Jones live here?” he asked, in a low, 
 hurried voice. 
 
 “I reckon. I’m Burt. What can I do for you?” 
 replied Jones. 
 
 The stranger peered around, stealthily came 
 closer, still with his hands up. 
 
 “It is known that Buck Duane is here. Captain 
 MacNellv’s camping on the river just out of town. 
 He sends word to Duane to come out there after 
 dark.” 
 
 The stranger wheeled and departed as swiftly and 
 strangely as he had come. 
 
 “Bust me! Duane, whatever do you make of 
 that?” exclaimed Jones. 
 
 “A new one on me,” replied Duane, thoughtfully. 
 
 “First fool thing I ever heard of MacNelly doing. 
 Can’t make head nor tails of it. I’d have said off- 
 hand that MacNelly wouldn’t double-cross anybody. 
 He struck me as a square man, sand all through. 
 But, hell ! he must mean treachery. I can’t see any- 
 thing else in that deal.” 
 
 “Maybe the Captain wants to give me a fail 
 chance to surrender without bloodshed,” observed 
 Duane. “Pretty decent of him, if he meant that.” 
 
 ‘ ‘ He invites you out to his camp after dark. Some- 
 thing 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 scone miles 
 
 146 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 between you and the amiable Captain before day- 
 light. To-morrow I’ll go out there and ask him 
 what in the devil he meant.” 
 
 “That messenger he sent — he was a ranger,” said 
 Duane. 
 
 ‘‘Sure he was, and a nervy one! It must have 
 taken sand to come bracing you that way. Duane, 
 the fellow didn’t pack a gun. I’ll swear to that. 
 Pretty odd, this trick. But you can’t trust it. Hit 
 the road, Duane.” 
 
 A little later a black horse with muffled hoofs, 
 bearing a tall, dark rider who peered keenly into 
 every shadow, trotted down a pasture lane back of 
 Jones’s house, turned into the road, and then, break- 
 ing into swifter gait, rapidly left Mercer behind. 
 
 Fifteen or twenty miles out Duane drew rein in 
 a forest of mesquite, dismounted, and searched about 
 for a glade with a little grass. Here he staked his 
 horse on a long lariat; and, using his saddle for a 
 pillow, his saddle-blanket for covering, he went to 
 sleep. 
 
 Next morning he was off again, working south. 
 During the next few r days he paid brief visits to sev- 
 eral 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 
 
 147 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 striking ruse, the daring of which might appeal to 
 certain outlaws. 
 
 But it did not appeal to Duane. His curiosity 
 was aroused; it did not, however, tempt him to any 
 foolhardy act. He turned southwest and rode a 
 hundred miles until he again reached the sparsely 
 settled country. Here he heard no more of rangers. 
 It was a barren region he had never but once ridden 
 through, and that ride had cost him dear. He had 
 been compelled to shoot his way out. Outlaws were 
 not in accord with the few ranchers and their cow- 
 boys who ranged there. He learned that both out- 
 laws and Mexican raiders had long been at bitter 
 enmity with these ranchers. Being unfamiliar with 
 roads and trails, Duane had pushed on into the heart 
 of this district, when all the time he really believed 
 he was traveling around it. A rifle-shot from a 
 ranch-house, a deliberate attempt to kill him be- 
 cause he was an unknown rider in those parts, dis- 
 covered to Duane his mistake; and a hard ride to 
 get away persuaded him to return to his old methods 
 of hiding by day and traveling by night. 
 
 He got into rough country, rode for three days 
 without covering much ground, but believed that 
 he was getting on safer territory. Twice he came 
 to a wide bottom-land green with willow and cotton- 
 wood and thick as chaparral, somewhere through 
 the middle of which ran a river he decided must be 
 the lower Nueces. 
 
 One evening, as he stole out from a covert where 
 he had camped, he saw the lights of a village. He 
 tried to pass it on the left, but was unable to because 
 the brakes of this bottom-land extended in almost 
 
 148 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 to the outskirts of the village, and he had to retrace 
 his steps and go round to the right. Wire fences and 
 horses in pasture made this a task, so it was well 
 after midnight before he accomplished it. He made 
 ten miles or more then by daylight, and after that 
 proceeded cautiously along a road which appeared 
 to be well worn from travel. He passed several 
 thickets where he would have halted to hide during 
 the day but for the fact that he had to find water. 
 
 He was a long while in coming to it, and then there 
 was no thicket or clump of mesquite near the water- 
 hole that would afford him covert. So he kept on. 
 
 The country before him was ridgy and began to 
 show cottonwoods here and there in the hollows and 
 yucca and mesquite on the higher ground. As he 
 mounted a ridge he noted that the road made a 
 sharp turn, and he could not see what was beyond 
 it. He slowed up and was making the turn, which 
 was down-hill between high banks of yellow clay, 
 when his mettlesome horse heard something to 
 frighten him or shied at something and bolted. 
 
 The few bounds he took before Duane’s iron arm 
 checked him were enough to reach the curve. One 
 flashing glance showed Duane the open once more, 
 a little valley below with a wide, shallow, rocky 
 stream, a clump of cottonwoods beyond, a sornbei 
 group of men facing him, and two dark, limp, 
 strangely grotesque figures hanging from branches. 
 
 The sight was common enough in southwest 
 Texas, but Duane had never before found himself 
 so unpleasantly close. 
 
 A hoarse voice pealed out: “By hell! there’s an- 
 other one!” 
 
 149 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “Stranger, ride down an’ account fer yourself!” 
 yelled another. 
 
 “Hands up!” 
 
 “Thet’s right, Jack; don’t take no chances. 
 Plug him!” 
 
 These remarks were so swiftly uttered as almost 
 to be continuous. Duane was wheeling his horse 
 when a rifle cracked. The bullet struck his left fore- 
 arm and he thought broke it, for he dropped the rein. 
 The frightened horse leaped. Another bullet whis- 
 tled past Duane. Then the bend in the road saved 
 him probably from certain death. Like the wind 
 his fleet steed went down the long hill. 
 
 Duane was in no hurry to look back. He knew 
 what to expect. His chief concern of the moment 
 was for his injured arm. He found that the bones 
 were still intact ; but the wound, having been made 
 by a soft bullet, was an exceedingly bad one. Blood 
 poured from it. Giving the horse his head, Duane 
 wound his scarf tightly round the holes, and with 
 teeth and hand tied it tightly. That done, he looked 
 back over his shoulder. 
 
 Riders were making the dust fly on the hillside 
 road. There were more coming round the cut 
 where the road curved. The leader was perhaps a 
 quarter of a mile back, and the others strung out 
 behind him. Duane needed only one glance to tell 
 him that they were fast and hard-riding cowboys in 
 a land where all riders were good. They would not 
 have owned any but strong, swift horses. More- 
 over, it was a district where ranchers had suffered 
 beyond all endurance the greed and brutality of 
 outlaws. Duane had simply been so unfortunate as 
 
 ICC 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 to ran right into a lynching party at a time of all 
 times when any stranger would be in danger and 
 any outlaw put to his limit to escape with his life. 
 
 Duane did not look back again till he had crossed 
 the ridgy piece of ground and had gotten to the 
 level road. He had gained upon his pursuers. When 
 he ascertained this he tried to save his horse, to 
 check a little that killing gait. This horse v/as a 
 magnificent animal, big, strong, fast; but his en- 
 durance had never been put to a grueling test. And 
 that worried Duane. His life had made it impos- 
 sible to keep one horse very long at a time, and this 
 one was an unknown quantity. 
 
 Duane had only one plan — the only plan possible 
 in this case — and that was to make the river-bot- 
 toms, where he might elude his pursuers in the wil- 
 low 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 pon- 
 dered 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 pur- 
 suers 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, 
 mesqu? te-dotted and yucca-spired country extended 
 away on either side. Duane believed that he would 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 be 4 ompelled to take to this hard going. One thing 
 was certain — he had to go round the village. The 
 rive/', however, was on the outskirts of the village; 
 and once in the willows, he would be safe. 
 
 Dust-clouds far ahead caused his alarm to grow. 
 He watched with his eyes strained; he hoped to see 
 a wagon, a few stray cattle. But no, he soon de- 
 scried several horsemen. Shots and yells behind 
 him attested to the fact that his pursuers likewise 
 had seen these new-comers on the scene. More than 
 a mile separated these two parties, yet that dis- 
 tance did not keep them from soon understanding 
 each other. Duane waited only to see this new 
 factor show r signs of sudden quick action, and then, 
 with a muttered curse, he spurred his horse off the 
 road into the brush. 
 
 He chose the right side, because the river lay near- 
 er 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. If was impossible for him to locate his 
 pursuers. They would come together, he decided, 
 and take to his tracks. 
 
 What, then, was his surprise and dismay to run 
 out of a thicket right into a low ridge of rough, 
 broken rock, impossible to get a horse over. He 
 wheeled to the left along its base. The sandy 
 ground gave place to a harder soil, where his horse 
 did not labor so. Here the growths of mesquite 
 and cactus became scanter, affording better travel 
 but poor cover. He kept sharp eyes ahead, and, 
 as he had expected, soon saw moving dust-clouds 
 and the dark figures of horses. They were half a 
 
 152 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 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 out- 
 law’s career. He wanted then to ride straight at 
 these pursuers. But reason outweighed instinct. 
 He was fleeing for his life; nevertheless, the strong- 
 est instinct at the time was his desire to fight. 
 
 He knew when these three horsemen saw him, 
 and a moment afterward he lost sight of them as 
 he got into the mesquite again. He meant now to 
 try to reach the road, and pushed his mount severely, 
 though still saving him for a final burst. Rocks, 
 thickets, bunches of cactus, washes — all operated 
 against his following a straight line. Almost he 
 lost his bearings, and finally would have ridden 
 toward his enemies had not good fortune favored 
 him in the matter of an open burned-over stretch 
 of ground. 
 
 Here he saw both groups of pursuers, one on each 
 side and almost within 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, stanch- 
 er beast. He seemed about to accomplish the im- 
 possible. 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 
 
 153 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 beyond. Heated now and thoroughly terrorized, he 
 kept the pace through thickets that almost tore 
 Duane from his saddle. Something weighty and 
 grim eased off Duane. He was going to get out in 
 front! The horse had speed, fire, stamina. 
 
 Duane dashed out into another open place dotted 
 by few trees, and here, right in his path, within pistol- 
 range, stood horsemen waiting. They yelled, they 
 spurred toward him, but did not fire at him. He 
 turned his horse — faced to the right. Only one 
 thing kept him from standing his ground to fight it 
 out. He remembered those dangling limp figures 
 hanging from the cottonwoods. These ranchers 
 would rather hang an outlaw than do anything. 
 They might draw all his fire and then capture him. 
 His horror of hanging was so great as to be all out 
 of proportion compared to his gun-fighter’s instinct 
 of self-preservation. 
 
 A race began then, a dusty, crashing drive through 
 gray mesquite. Duane could scarcely see, he was 
 so blinded by stinging branches across his eyes. The 
 hollow wind roared in his ears. He lost his sense of 
 the nearness of his pursuers. But they must have 
 been close. Did they shoot at him? He imagined 
 he heard shots. But that might have been the crack- 
 ing of dead snags. His left arm hung limp, almost 
 useless; he handled the rein with his right; and 
 most of the time he hung low over the pommel. The 
 gray walls flashing by him, the whip of twigs, the 
 rush of wind, the heavy, rapid pound of hoofs, the 
 violent motion of his horse — these vied in sensation 
 with the smart of sweat in his eyes, the rack of his 
 wound the cold, sick cramp in his stomach. With 
 
 *54 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 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 pur- 
 suers, of this race for his useless life. 
 
 Suddenly he burst out of a line of mesquifce into 
 the road. A long stretch of lonely road! How 
 fiercely, with hot, strange joy, he wheeled his horse 
 upon it! Then he was sweeping along, sure now that 
 he was out in front. His horse still had strength and 
 speed, but showed signs of breaking. Presently 
 Duane looked back. Pursuers — he could not count 
 how many — were loping along in his rear. He paid 
 no more attention to them, and with teeth set he faced 
 ahead, grimmer now in his determination to foil them. 
 
 He passed a few scattered ranch -houses where 
 horses whistled from corrals, and men curiously 
 watched him fly past. He saw one rancher running, 
 and he felt intuitively that this fellow was going to 
 join in the chase. Duane’s steed pounded on, not 
 noticeably slower, but with a lack of former smooth- 
 ness, with a strained, convulsive, jerking stride which 
 showed he was almost done. 
 
 Sight of the village ahead surprised Duane. He 
 had reached it sooner than he expected. Then he 
 made a discovery — he had entered the zone of wire 
 fences. As he dared not turn back now, he kept on, 
 intending to ride through the village. Looking back- 
 ward, he saw that his pursuers were half a mile dis- 
 tant, too far to alarm any villagers in time to inter- 
 cept 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. 
 
 ’i iS" 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 Saddled horses in front of a store gave Duane an 
 idea, not by any means new, and one he had carried 
 out successfully before. As he pulled in his heaving 
 mount and leaped off, a couple of ranchers came out 
 of the place, and one of them stepped to a clean- 
 limbed, fiery bay. He was about to get into his 
 saddle when he saw Duane, and then he halted, a 
 foot in the stirrup. 
 
 Duane strode forward, grasped the bridle of this 
 
 man’s horse. 
 
 “Mine’s done — but not killed,” he panted. “Trade 
 
 with me.” 
 
 “Wal, stranger, I’m shore always ready to trade,” 
 drawled the man. “But ain’t you a little swift?” 
 
 Duane glanced back up the road. His pursuers 
 were entering the village. 
 
 “I’m Duane — Buck Duane,” he cried, menacingly. 
 “Will you trade? Hurry!” 
 
 The rancher, turning white, dropped his foot from 
 the stirrup and fell back. 
 
 “I reckon I’ll trade,” he said. 
 
 Bounding up, Duane dug spurs into the bay's 
 flanks. The horse snorted in fright, plunged into 
 a run. He was fresh, swift, half wild. Duane flashed 
 by the remaining houses on the street out into the 
 open. But the road ended at that village or else led 
 out from some other quarter, for he had ridden 
 straight into the fields and from them into rough 
 desert. When he reached the cover of mesquite 
 once more he looked back to find six horsemen with- 
 in rifle-shot of him, and more coming behind them. 
 
 His new horse had not had time to get warm be- 
 fore Duane reached a high sandy bluff below which 
 
 156 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 lay the willow brakes. As far as he could see ex- 
 tended an immense flat strip of red-tinged willow. 
 How welcome it was to his eye ! He felt like a hunted 
 wolf that, weary and lame, had reached his hole in 
 the rocks. Zigzagging down the soft slope, he put 
 the bay to the dense wall of leaf and branch. But 
 the horse balked. 
 
 There was little time to lose. Dismounting, he 
 dragged the stubborn beast into the thicket. This 
 was harder and slower work than Duane cared to 
 risk. If he had not been rushed he might have had 
 better success. So he had to abandon the horse — 
 a circumstance that only such sore straits could 
 have driven him to. Then he went slipping swiftly 
 through the narrow aisles. 
 
 He had not gotten under cover any too soon. For 
 he heard liis pursuers piling over the bluff, loud- 
 voiced, confident, brutal. They crashed into the 
 willows. 
 
 “Hi, Sid ! Heah’s your hoss !” called one, evidently 
 to the man Duane had forced into a trade. 
 
 “Say, if you locoed gents ’ll hold up a little I’ll 
 tell you somethin’,” replied a voice from the bluff. 
 
 “Come on, Sid! We got him corralled,” said the 
 first speaker. 
 
 “Wal, mebbe, an’ if you hev it’s liable to be damn 
 hot. Thet feller was Buck Duane!” 
 
 Absolute silence followed that statement. Pres- 
 ently it was broken by a rattling of loose gravel and 
 then low voices. 
 
 “He can’t git acrost the river, I tell you,” came to 
 Duane’s ears. “He’s corralled in the brake. I know 
 thet hole.” 
 
 1 57 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 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. Cotton- 
 wood, mesquite, prickly pear, and other growths 
 mingled with the willow, and altogether they made 
 a matted, tangled copse, a thicket that an inex- 
 perienced man would have considered impenetrable. 
 From above, these wild brakes looked green and 
 red; from the inside they were gray and yellow — 
 a striped wall. Trails and glades were scarce. There 
 were a few deer runways and sometimes little paths 
 made by peccaries — the jabali, or wild pigs, of Mexico. 
 The ground was clay and unusually dry, sometimes 
 baked so hard that it left no imprint of a track. 
 Where a growth of cottonwood had held back the 
 encroachment of the willow’s there usually was thick 
 grass and underbrush. The willows were short, slen- 
 der poles with stems so close together that they al- 
 most touched, and with the leafy foliage forming a 
 thick covering. 
 
 The depths of this brake Duane had penetrated 
 was a silent, dreamy, strange place. In the middle 
 of the day the light was weird and dim. When a 
 breeze fluttered the foliage, then slender shafts and 
 spears of sunshine pierced the green mantle and 
 danced like gold on the ground. 
 
 Duane had always felt the strangeness of this kind 
 158 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 of place, and likewise he had felt a protecting, har- 
 boring 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 with- 
 in 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 pos- 
 sible, and, keeping in the brake, work his way up- 
 stream 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 nar- 
 row aisles and washes and holes low down and paths 
 brushed by animals, all of which he took advantage 
 of, running, walking, crawling, stooping any way to 
 get along. To keep in a straight line was not easy 
 — he did it by marking some bright sunlit stem or 
 tree ahead, and when he reached it looked straight 
 on to mark another. His progress necessarily grew 
 slower, for as he advanced the brake became wilder, 
 denser, darker. Mosquitoes began to whine about 
 his head. He kept on without pause. Deepening 
 shadows under the willows told him that the after- 
 noon was far advanced. He began to fear he had 
 
 159 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 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. Every- 
 where the sluggish water laved quicksand bars. In 
 fact, the bed of the river was all quicksand, and 
 very likely there was not a foot of water any- 
 where. 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 quick- 
 sand. He abandoned any hope of crossing the 
 river. Probably for miles up and down it would be 
 just the same as here. Before leaving the bank he 
 tied his hat upon the pole and lifted enough water to 
 quench his thirst. Then he worked his way back to 
 where thinner growth made advancement easier, and 
 kept on up-stream till the shadows were so deep 
 he could not see. Feeling around for a place big 
 enough to stretch out on, he lay down. For the time 
 being he was as safe there as he would have been 
 beyond in the Rim Rock. He was tired, though not 
 exhausted, and in spite of the throbbing pain in his 
 arm he dropped at once into sleep. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 S OME time during the night Duane awoke. A 
 stillness seemingly so thick and heavy as to have 
 substance blanketed the black willow brake. He 
 could not see a star or a branch or tree-trunk or even 
 his hand before his eyes. He lay there waiting, lis- 
 tening, sure that he had been awakened by an un- 
 usual sound. Ordinary noises of the night in the 
 wilderness never disturbed his rest. His faculties, 
 like those of old fugitives and hunted creatures, had 
 become trained to a marvelous keenness. A long 
 low breath of slow wind moaned through the willows, 
 passed away; some stealthy, soft-footed beast trotted 
 by him in the darkness; there was a rustling among 
 dry leaves; a fox barked lonesomely in the distance. 
 But none of these sounds had broken his slumber. 
 
 Suddenly, piercing the stillness, came a bay of a 
 bloodhound. Quickly Duane sat up, chilled to his 
 marrow. The action made him aware of his crippled 
 arm. Then came other bays, lower, more distant. 
 Silence enfolded him again, all the more oppressive 
 and menacing in his suspense. Bloodhounds had 
 been put on his trail, and the leader was not far 
 away. All his life Duane had been familiar with 
 bloodhounds; and he knew that if the pack sur- 
 rounded him in this impenetrable darkness he would 
 be held at bay or dragged down as wolves dragged 
 
 161 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 a stag. Rising to his feet, prepared to flee as best 
 he could, he waited to be sure of the direction he 
 should take. 
 
 The leader of the hounds broke into cry again, a 
 deep, full-toned, ringing bay, strange, ominous, ter- 
 jribly significant in its power. It caused a cold sweat 
 to ooze out all over Duane’s body. He turned from 
 it, and with his uninjured arm outstretched to feel 
 for the willows he groped his way along. As it was 
 impossible to pick out the narrow passages, he had 
 to slip and squeeze and plunge between the yielding 
 stems. He made such a crashing that he no longer 
 heard the baying of the hounds. He had no hope to 
 elude them. He meant to climb the first cottonwood 
 that he stumbled upon in his blind flight. But it 
 appeared he never was going to be lucky enough to 
 run against one. Often he fell, sometimes flat, at 
 others upheld by the willows. What made the work 
 so hard was the fact that he had only one arm to 
 open a clump of close-growing stems and his feet 
 would catch or tangle in the narrow crotches, hold- 
 ing him fast. He had to struggle desperately. It 
 was as if the willows were clutching hands, his en- 
 emies, fiendishly impeding his progress. He tore his 
 clothes on sharp branches and his flesh suffered many 
 a prick. But in a terrible earnestness he kept on 
 until he brought up hard against a cottonwood tree. 
 
 There he leaned and rested. He found himself 
 as nearly exhausted as he had ever been, wet wfith 
 sweat, his hands tom and burning, his breast labor- 
 ing, 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 
 
 162 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 no sound from them. This, however, did not de- 
 ceive him into any hopefulness. There were blood 
 hounds 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. Satis- 
 fied that they would soon overtake him, Duane set 
 about climbing the cottonwood, which in his condi- 
 tion was difficult of ascent. 
 
 It happened to be a fairly large tree with a fork 
 about fifteen feet up, and branches thereafter in suc- 
 cession. Duane din .'red until he got above the en - 
 shrouding 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 de- 
 scended to the first branch of the tree. 
 
 His situation now, though still critical, did not ap- 
 pear 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 run- 
 ning hounds through that brake in the night. The 
 thing that worried Duane was the fact of the bon- 
 
 163 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 fires. 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 pur- 
 suers far off to the south would hear that and know 
 what it meant. And at daybreak, perhaps before, 
 they would take a short cut across the brake, 
 guided by the baying of hounds that had treed their 
 quarry. 
 
 It wanted only a few moments, however, till Duane 
 could distinguish the vague forms of the hounds in 
 the gray shadow below. Still he waited. He had 
 no shots to spare. And he knew how to treat blood- 
 hounds. Gradually the obscurity lightened, and at 
 length Duane had good enough sight of the hounds 
 for his purpose. His first shot killed the huge brute 
 leader of the pack. Then, with unerring shots, he 
 crippled several others. That stopped the baying. 
 Piercing howls arose. The pack took fright and 
 fled, its course easily marked by the howls of the 
 crippled members. Duane reloaded his gun, and, 
 making certain all the hounds had gone, he descended 
 
 164 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 to the ground and set off at a rapid pace to the 
 northward. 
 
 The mist had dissolved under a rising sun when 
 Duane made his first halt some miles north of the 
 scene where he had waited for the hounds. A barrier 
 to further progress, in shape of a precipitous rocky 
 bluff, rose sheer from the willow brake. He skirted 
 the base of the cliff, where walking was compara- 
 tively 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 comer. 
 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 quench- 
 ing his thirst he had a look at his wound. It was 
 caked over with blood and dirt. When washed off 
 the arm was seen to be inflamed and swollen around 
 the bullet-hole. He bathed it, experiencing a sooth- 
 ing relief in the cool water. Then he bandaged it 
 as best he could and arranged a sling round his neck. 
 This mitigated the pain of the injured member and 
 held it in a quiet and restful position, where it had a 
 chance to begin mending. 
 
 As Duane turned away from the river he felt re- 
 freshed. 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. Re- 
 tracing his steps, he reached the point where he had 
 abruptly come upon the bluff, and here he deter- 
 mined to follow along its base in the other direction 
 
 165 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 until he found a way out or discovered the futility 
 
 of such effort. 
 
 Duane covered ground rapidly. From time to 
 time he paused to listen. But he was always listen- 
 ing, and his eyes were ever roving. This alertness 
 had become second nature with him, so that except 
 in extreme cases of caution he performed it while 
 he pondered his gloomy and fateful situation. Such 
 habit of alertness and thought made time fly swiftly. 
 
 By noon he had rounded the wide curve of the 
 brake and was facing south. The bluff had petered 
 out from a high, mountainous wall to a low abut- 
 ment of rock, but it still held to its steep, rough 
 nature and afforded no crack or slope where quick 
 ascent could have been possible. He pushed on, 
 growing warier as he approached the danger-zone, 
 finding that as he neared the river on this side it 
 was imperative to go deeper into the willows. In 
 the afternoon he reached a point where he could 
 see men pacing to and fro on the bluff. This assured 
 him that whatever place was guarded was one by 
 which he might escape. He headed toward these 
 men and approached to within a hundred paces of 
 the bluff where they were. There were several men 
 and several boys, all armed and, after the manner 
 of Texans, taking their task leisurely. Farther down 
 Duane made out black dots on the horizon of the 
 bluff -line, and these he concluded were more guards 
 stationed at another outlet. Probably all the avail- 
 able men in the district were on duty. Texans took 
 a grim pleasure in such work. Duane remembered 
 that upon several occasions he had served such duty 
 himself. 
 
 166 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 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 care- 
 less guards. They had rifles, and that made vain, 
 any attempt to pass them, in daylight. He believed 
 an attempt by night might be successful; and he 
 was swiftly coming to a determination to hide there 
 till dark and then try it, when the sudden yelping 
 of a dog betrayed him to the guards on the bluff. 
 
 The dog had likely been placed there to give an 
 alarm, and he was lustily true to his trust. Duane 
 saw the men run together and begin to talk excitedly 
 and peer into the brake, which was a signal for him 
 to slip away under the willows. He made no noise, 
 and he assured himself he must be invisible. Never- 
 theless, he heard shouts, then the cracking of rifles, 
 and bullets began to zip and swish through the leafy 
 covert. The day was hot and windless, and Duane 
 concluded that whenever he touched a willow stem, 
 even ever so slightly, it vibrated to the top and sent 
 a quiver among the leaves. Through this the guards, 
 had located his position. Once a bullet hissed by 
 him; another thudded into the ground before him. 
 This shooting loosed a rage in Duane. He had to 
 fly from these men, and he hated them and himself 
 because of it. Always in the fury of such moments 
 he wanted to give back shot for shot. But he slipped 
 on through the willows, and at length the rifles 
 ceased to crack. 
 
 He sheered to the left again, in line with the rocky 
 barrier, and kept on, wondering what the next mile 
 would bring. 
 
 It brought worse, for he was seen by sharp-eyed 
 167 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 scouts, and a hot fusillade drove him to run for his 
 life, luckily to escape with no more than a bullet- 
 creased shoulder. 
 
 Later that day, still undaunted, he sheered again 
 toward the trap-wall, and found that the nearer he 
 approached to the place where he had come down 
 into the brake the greater his danger. To attempt 
 to run the blockade of that trail by day would be 
 fatal. He waited for night, and after the brightness 
 of the fires had somewhat lessened he assayed to 
 creep out of the brake.- ' He succeeded in reaching 
 the foot of the bluff, here only a bank, and had be- 
 gun to crawl stealthily up under cover of a shadow 
 when a hound again betrayed his position. Re- 
 treating to the willows was as perilous a task as had 
 ever confronted Duane; and when he had accom- 
 plished it, right under what seemed a hundred blaz- 
 ing rifles, he felt that he had indeed been favored by 
 Providence. This time men followed him a goodly 
 ways into the brake, and the ripping of lead through 
 the willows sounded on all sides of him. 
 
 When the noise of pursuit ceased Duane sat down 
 in the darkness, his mind clamped between two 
 things — whether to try again to escape or wait for 
 possible opportunity. He seemed incapable of de- 
 cision. His intelligence told him that every hour 
 lessened his chances for escape. He had little enough 
 chance in anjr 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. 
 
 168 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 When 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 comer 
 of the brake was low and near the river, a breeding- 
 ground for the blood-suckers. They sang and hum- 
 med and whined around him in an ever-increasing 
 horde. He covered his head and hands with his 
 coat and lay there patiently. That was a long and 
 wretched night. Morning found him still strong 
 physically, but in a dreadful state of mind. 
 
 First he hurried for the river. Pie could with- 
 stand the pangs of hunger, but it was imperative to 
 quench thirst. His wound made him feverish, and 
 therefore more than usually hot and thirsty. Again 
 he was refreshed. That morning he was hard put 
 to it to hold himself back from attempting to cross 
 the river. If he could find a light log it was within 
 the bounds of possibility that he might ford the shal- 
 low water and bars of quicksand. But not yeti 
 Wearily, doggedly he faced about toward the bluff. 
 
 All that day and all that night, all the next day 
 and all the next night, he stole like a hunted savage 
 from river to bluff ; and every hour forced upon him 
 the bitter certainty that he was trapped. 
 
 Duane lost track of days, of events. He had com® 
 to an evil pass. There arrived an hour when, closely 
 pressed by pursuers at the extreme southern cornet 
 of the brake, he took to a dense thicket of willows, 
 driven to what he believed was his last stand. 
 
 If only these human bloodhounds would swiftly 
 close in on him ! Let him fight to the last bitter gasp 
 and have it over! But these hunters, eager as they 
 
 169 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 were to get him, had care of their own skins. They 
 took few risks. They had him cornered. 
 
 It was the middle of the day, hot, dusty, oppres- 
 sive, threatening storm. Like a snake Duane crawled 
 into a little space in the darkest part of the thicket 
 and lay still. Men had cut him off from the bluff, 
 from the river, seemingly from all sides. But he 
 heard voices only from in front and toward his left. 
 Even if his passage to the river had not been blocked, 
 it might just as well have been. 
 
 “Come on fellers — down hyar,” called one man 
 from the bluff. 
 
 “Got him corralled at last,” shouted another. 
 
 “Reckon ye needn’t be too shore. We thought 
 thet more’n once,” taunted another. 
 
 “I seen him, I tell you.” 
 
 “Aw, thet was a deer.” 
 
 “But Bill found fresh tracks an’ blood on the 
 willows.” 
 
 “If he’s winged we needn’t hurry.” 
 
 ‘ ‘ Hold on thar, you boys, ” came a shout in authori- 
 tative tones from farther up the bluff. “Go slow. 
 You - all air gittin’ foolish at the end of a long 
 chase.” 
 
 “Thet’s right, Colonel. Hold ’em back. There’s 
 nothin’ shorer than somebody ’ll be stoppin’ lead 
 pretty quick. He'll be huntin’ us soon!” 
 
 “Let’s surround this comer an’ starve him out.” 
 
 “Fire the brake.” 
 
 How clearly all this talk pierced Duane’s ears ! In 
 it he seemed to hear his doom. This, then, was the 
 end he had always expected, which had been close 
 to him before, yet never like now. 
 
 1 7C 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “By God!” whispered Duane, “the thing for me 
 to do now — is go out — meet them!” 
 
 That was prompted by the fighting, the killing 
 instinct in him. In that moment it had almost 
 superhuman power. If he must die, that was the 
 way for him to die. What else could be expected 
 of Buck Duane? He got to his knees and drew his 
 gun. With his swollen and almost useless hand he 
 held what spare ammunition he had left. He ought 
 to creep out noiselessly to the edge of the willows, 
 suddenly face his pursuers, then, while there was a 
 beat left in his heart, kill, kill, kill. These men all 
 had rifles. The fight would be short. But the 
 marksmen did not live on earth who could make 
 such a fight go wholly against him. Confronting 
 them suddenly he could kill a man for every shot 
 in his gun. 
 
 Thus Duane reasoned. So he hoped to accept 
 his fate — to meet this end. But when he tried to 
 step forward something checked him. He forced 
 himself; yet he could not go. The obstruction that 
 opposed his will was as insurmountable as it had 
 been physically impossible for him to climb the bluff. 
 
 Slowly he fell back, crouched low, and then lay 
 flat. The grim and ghastly dignity that had been 
 his a moment before fell away from him. He lay 
 'there stripped of his last shred of self-respect. He 
 wondered was he afraid; had he, the last of the 
 Duanes — had he come to feel fear? No! Never in 
 all his wild life had he so longed to go out and meet 
 men face to face. It was not fear that held him back. 
 He hated this hiding, this eternal vigilance, this 
 hopeless life. The damnable paradox of the situ- 
 i~> 171 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 ation 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 unso^gH and 
 hated career, the nameless, inexplicable something 
 in him made him accept that slim chance. 
 
 Waiting then became a physical and mental agony. 
 He lay under the burning sun, parched by thirst, 
 laboring to breathe, sweating and bleeding. His 
 uncared-for wound was like a red-hot prong in his 
 flesh. Blotched and swollen from the never-ending 
 attack of flies and mosquitoes his face seemed twice 
 its natural size, and it ached and stung. 
 
 On one side, then, was this physical torture; on 
 the other the old hell, terribly augmented at this 
 crisis, in his mind. It seemed that thought and 
 imagination had never been so swift. If death found 
 him presently, how would it come? Would he get 
 decent burial or be left for the peccaries and the 
 coyotes ? Would his people ever know where he had 
 fallen? How wretched, how miserable his state! 
 It was cowardly, it was monstrous for him to cling 
 longer to this doomed life. Then the hate in his 
 heart, the hellish hate of these men on his trail — 
 that was like a scourge. He felt no longer human. 
 He had degenerated into an animal that could think. 
 His heart pounded, his pulse beat, his breast heaved ; 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 and this internal, strife seemed to thunder into his 
 ears. He was now enacting the tragedy of all 
 crippled, starved, hunted wolves at bay in their 
 dens. Only his tragedy was infinitely more terrible 
 because he had mind enough to see his plight, his 
 resemblance to a lonely wolf, bloody-fanged, drip- 
 ping, snarling, fire-eyed in a last instinctive defiance. 
 
 Mounted upon the horror of Duane’s thought was 
 a watching, listening intensity so supreme that it 
 registered impressions which were creations of his 
 imagination. He heard stealthy steps that were not 
 there; he saw shadowy moving figures that were 
 only leaves. A hundred times when he was about 
 to pull trigger he discovered his error. Yet voices 
 came from a distance, and steps and crackings in the 
 willows, and other sounds real enough. But Duane 
 could not distinguish the real from the false. There 
 were times when the wind which had arisen sent a 
 hot, pattering breath down the willow aisles, and 
 Duane heard it as an approaching army. 
 
 This straining of Duane’s faculties brought on a 
 reaction which in itself was a respite. He saw the 
 sun darkened by thick slow spreading clouds. A 
 storm appeared to be coming. How slowly it moved ! 
 The air was like steam. If there broke one of those 
 dark, violent storms common though rare to the 
 country, Duane believed he might slip away in the 
 fury of wind and rain. Hope, that seemed unquench- 
 able in him, resurged again. He hailed it with a 
 bitterness that was sickening. 
 
 Then at a rustling step he froze into the old 
 strained attention. He heard a slow patter of soft 
 feet. A tawny shape crossed a little opening in the 
 
 i73 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 thicket. It was that of a dog. The moment while 
 that beast came into full view was an age. The 
 dog was not a bloodhound, and if he had a trail or 
 a scent he seemed to be at fault on it. Duane waited 
 for the inevitable discovery. Any kind of a hunting- 
 dog could have found him in that thicket. Voices 
 from outside could be heard urging on the dog. 
 Rover they called him. Duane sat up at the moment 
 the dog entered the little shaded covert. Duane 
 expected a yelping, a baying, or at least a bark that 
 would tell of his hiding-place. A strange relief 
 swiftly swayed over Duane. The end was near now. 
 He had no further choice. Let them come — a quick 
 fierce exchange of shots — and then this torture past ! 
 He waited for the dog to give the alarm. 
 
 But the dog looked at him and trotted by into 
 the thicket without a yelp. Duane could not believe 
 the evidence of his senses. He thought he had sud- 
 denly gone deaf. He saw the dog disappear, heard 
 him running to and fro among the willows, getting 
 farther and farther away, till all sound from him 
 ceased. 
 
 “Thar’s Rover,” called a voice from the bluff - 
 side. “He’s been through thet black patch.” 
 
 “Nary a rabbit in there,” replied another. 
 
 “Bah! Thet pup’s no good,” scornfully growled 
 another man. “Put a hound at thet clump of wil- 
 lows.” 
 
 ‘ ‘ Fire’s the game. Bum the brake before the rain 
 comes.” 
 
 The voices droned off as their owners evidently 
 walked up the ridge. 
 
 Then upon Duane fell the crushing burden of the 
 
 i 74 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 old waiting, watching, listening spell. After all, it 
 was not to end just now. His chance still persisted 
 — looked a little brighter — led him on, perhaps, to 
 forlorn hope. 
 
 All at once twilight settled quickly down upon the 
 willow brake, or else Duane noted it suddenly. He 
 imagined it to be caused by the approaching storm. 
 But there was little movement of air or cloud, and 
 thunder still muttered and rumbled at a distance. 
 The fact was the sun had set, and at this time of 
 overcast sky night was at hand. 
 
 Duane realized it with the awakening of all his 
 old force. He would yet elude his pursuers. That 
 was the moment when he seized the significance of 
 all these fortunate circumstances which had aided 
 him. Without haste and without sound he began 
 to crawl in the direction of the river. It was not far, 
 and he reached the bank before darkness set in. 
 There were men up on the bluff carrying wood to 
 build a bonfire. For a moment he half yielded to a 
 temptation to try to slip along the river-shore, close 
 in under the willows. But when he raised himself 
 to peer out he saw that an attempt of this kind 
 would be liable to failure. At the same moment he 
 saw a rough-hewn plank lying beneath him, lodged 
 against some willows. The end of the plank extended 
 in almost to a point beneath him. Quick as a flash 
 he saw where a desperate chance invited him. Then 
 he tied his gun in an oilskin bag and put it in his 
 pocket. 
 
 The bank was steep and crumbly. He must not 
 break off any earth to splash into the water. There 
 was a willow growing back some few feet from the 
 
 ITS 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 edge of the batik. 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 re- 
 leased 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 gradu- 
 ally settled to rest upon the bottom. But it sank 
 no farther, and Duane’s greatest concern was re- 
 lieved. However, as it was manifestly impossible 
 /for him to keep his head up for long he carefully 
 crawled out upon the plank until he could rest an 
 arm and shoulder upon the willows. 
 
 When he looked up it was to find the night strange- 
 ly 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 
 
 176 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 brake was dry enough, but too green to bum 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 con- 
 sidered this outlaw-hunting a great lark. As long 
 as the bright light lasted Duane dared not move. 
 He had the patience and the endurance to wait for 
 the breaking of the storm, and if that did not come, 
 then the early hour before dawn when the gray fog 
 and gloom were over the river. 
 
 Escape was now in his grasp. He felt it. And 
 with that in his mind he waited, strong as steel in 
 his conviction, capable of withstanding any strain 
 endurable by the human frame. 
 
 The wind blew in puffs, grew wilder, and roa/ed 
 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, 
 
 177 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 dimmer, disappear one by one. A shadow hovered 
 do wn, rested upon the river, and gradually thickened. 
 The bonfire on the bluff showed as through a foggy 
 veil. The watchers were mere groping dark figures. 
 
 Duane, aware of how cramped he had become 
 from long inaction, began to move his legs and un- 
 injured arm and body, and at length overcame a 
 paralyzing stiffness. Then, digging his hand in the 
 sand and holding the plank with his knees, he edged 
 it out into the river. Inch by inch he advanced 
 until clear of the willows. Looking upward, he saw 
 the shadowy figures of the men on the bluff. He 
 realized they ought to see him, feared that they 
 would. But he kept on, cautiously, noiselessly, with 
 a heart-numbing slowness. From time to time his 
 elbow made a little gurgle and splash in the water. 
 Try as he might, he could not prevent this. It got 
 to be like the hollow roar of a rapid filling his ears 
 with mocking sound. There was a perceptible current 
 out in the river, and it hindered straight advance- 
 ment. Inch by inch he crept on, expecting to hear 
 the bang of rifles, the spattering of bullets. Fie tried 
 not to look backward, but failed. The fire appeared 
 a little dimmer, the moving shadows a little darker. 
 
 Once the plank stuck in the sand and felt as if it 
 were settling. Bringing feet to aid his hand, he 
 shoved it over the treacherous place. This way he 
 made faster progress. The obscurity of the river 
 seemed to be enveloping him. When he looked back 
 again the figures of the men were coalescing with 
 the surrounding gloom, the fires were streaky, blurred 
 patches of light. But the sky above was brighter. 
 Dawn was not far off. 
 
 178 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 To the west all was dark. With infinite care and 
 implacable spirit and waning strength Duane shoved 
 the plank along, and when at last he discerned the 
 black border of bank it came in time, he thought, 
 to save him. He crawled out, rested till the gray 
 dawn broke, and then headed north through the 
 willows. 
 
CHAPTER XIH 
 
 H OW long Duane was traveling out of that re- 
 gion he never knew. But he reached familiar 
 country and found a rancher who had before be- 
 friended him. Here his arm was attended to; he 
 had food and sleep; and in a couple of weeks he 
 was himself again. 
 
 When the time came for Duane to ride away on 
 his endless trail his friend reluctantly imparted the 
 information that some thirty miles south, near the 
 village of Shirley, there was posted at a certain 
 cross-road a reward for Buck Duane dead or alive. 
 Duane had heard of such notices, but he had never 
 seen one. His friend’s reluctance and refusal to 
 state for what particular deed this reward was offered 
 roused Duane’s curiosity. He had never been any 
 closer to Shirley than this rancher’s home. Doubt- 
 less some post-office burglary, some gun-shooting 
 scrape had been attributed to him. And he had 
 been accused of worse deeds. Abruptly Duane de- 
 cided 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 knowl- 
 edge; during that last terrible flight on the lower 
 Nueces and while he lay abed recuperating he had 
 jSo 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 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 un- 
 available to turn him back from his fate. That 
 fate was to become an outlaw in every sense of the 
 term, to be what he was credited with being — that 
 is to say, to embrace evil. He had never committed 
 a. crime. He wondered now was crime close to him? 
 He reasoned finally that the desperation of crime 
 had been forced upon him, if not its motive; and 
 that if driven, there was no limit to his possibilities. 
 He understood now many of the hitherto inexplicable 
 actions of certain noted outlaws — why they had 
 returned to the scene of the crime that had out- 
 lawed them; why they took such strangely fatal 
 chances; why life was no more to them than a 
 breath of wind; why they rode straight into the 
 jaws of death to confront wronged men or hunting 
 rangers, vigilantes, to laugh in their very faces. It 
 was such bitterness as his that drove these men. 
 
 Toward afternoon, from the top of a long hill, 
 Duane saw the green fields and trees and shining 
 roofs of a town he considered must be Shirley. And 
 at the bottom of the hill he came upon an intersect- 
 ing road. There was a placard nailed on the cross- 
 road sign-post. Duane drew rein near it and leaned 
 close to read the faded print. $1000 reward for 
 buck duane dead or alive. Peering closer to read 
 the finer, more faded print, Duane learned that he 
 was wanted for the murder of Mrs. Jeff Aiken at 
 her ranch near Shirley. The month September was 
 named, but the date was illegible. The reward was 
 offered by the woman’s husband, whose name ap- 
 
 181 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 peared with that of a sheriff’s at the bottom of the 
 placard. 
 
 Duane read the thing twice. When he straight- 
 ened 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. Prob- 
 ably he bore on his shoulders a burden of numberless 
 crimes. 
 
 A dark, passionate fury possessed him. It shook 
 him like a storm shakes the oak. When it passed, 
 leaving him cold, with clouded brow and piercing 
 eye, his mind was set. Spurring his horse, he rode 
 straight toward the village. 
 
 Shirley appeared to be a large, pretentious country 
 town. A branch of some railroad terminated there. 
 The main street was wide, bordered by trees and 
 commodious houses, and many of the stores were of 
 brick. A large plaza shaded by giant cottonwood 
 trees occupied a central location. 
 
 Duane pulled his running horse and halted him, 
 plunging and snorting, before a group of idle men 
 who lounged on benches in the shade of a spreading 
 cottonwood. How many times had Duane seen 
 just that kind of lazy shirt-sleeved Texas group! 
 Not often, however, had he seen such placid, lolling, 
 good-natured men change their expression, their 
 attitude so swiftly. His advent apparently was 
 momentous. They evidently took him for an un- 
 
 182 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 usual visitor. So far as Duane could tell, not one 
 of them recognized him, had a hint of his identity. 
 
 He slid off his horse and threw the bridle. 
 
 “I’m Buck Duane,” he said. “I saw that placard 
 —out there on a sign-post. It’s a damn lie! Some- 
 body find this man Jeff Aiken. I want to see him.” 
 
 His announcement was taken in absolute silence. 
 That was the only effect he noted, for he avoided 
 looking at these villagers. The reason was simple 
 enough; Duane felt himself overcome with emotion. 
 There were tears in his eyes. He sat down on a 
 bench, put his elbows on his knees and his hands 
 to his face. For once he had absolutely no concern 
 for his fate. This ignominy was the last straw. 
 
 Presently, however, he became aware of some 
 kind of commotion among these villagers. He heard 
 whisperings, low, hoarse Voices, then the shuffle of 
 rapid feet moving away. All at once a violent hand 
 jerked his gun from its holster. When Duane rose 
 a gaunt man, livid of face, shaking like a leaf, con- 
 fronted him with his own gun. 
 
 “Hands up, thar, you Buck Duane!” he roared, 
 waving the gun. 
 
 That appeared to be the cue for pandemonium 
 to break loose. Duane opened his lips to speak, 
 but if he had yelled at the top of his lungs he could 
 not have made himself heard. In weary disgust he 
 looked at the gaunt man, and then at the others, 
 who w r ere 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. Fe- 
 
 183 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 sistance was useless even if Duane had had the 
 spirit. Some one of them fetched his halter from 
 his saddle, and with this they bound him helpless. 
 
 People were running now from the street, the 
 stores, the houses. Old men, cowboys, clerks, boys, 
 ranchers came on the trot. The crowd grew. The 
 increasing clamor began to attract women as well 
 as men. A group of girls ran up, then hung back 
 in fright and pity. 
 
 The presence of cowboys made a difference. They 
 split up the crowd, got to Duane, and lay hold of 
 him with rough, business-like hands. One of them 
 lifted his fists and roared at the frenzied mob to 
 fall back, to stop the racket. He beat them back 
 into a circle; but it was some little time before the 
 hubbub quieted down so a voice could be heard. 
 
 ‘ ‘ shut up, will you-all ?” he was yelling. ‘ ‘ Give 
 
 us a chance to hear somethin’. Easy now— soho. 
 There ain’t nobody goin’ to be hurt. Thet’s right; 
 everybody quiet now r . Let’s see what’s come off.” 
 
 This cowboy, evidently one of authority, or at 
 least one of strong personality, turned to the gaunt 
 man, who still waved Duane’s gun. 
 
 “Abe, put the gun down,” he said. “It might 
 go off. Here, give it to me. Now, what’s wrong? 
 Who’s this roped gent, an’ what’s he done?” 
 
 The gaunt fellow, who appeared nov r about to 
 collapse, lifted a shaking hand and pointed. 
 
 “Thet thar feller — he’s Buck Duane!” he panted. 
 
 An angry murmur ran through the surrounding 
 crowd. 
 
 “The rope! The rope! Throw it over a branch! 
 String him up!” cried an excited villager. 
 
 184 
 
THE LONE STAR RANKER 
 
 “Buck Duane! Buck Duane!” 
 
 “Hang him!” 
 
 The cowboy silenced these crie*,. 
 
 “Abe, how do you know this fellow is Buck 
 Duane?” he asked, sharply. 
 
 ‘ ‘ Why — he said so,” replied the man called Abe. 
 
 “What!” came the exclamation, incredulously. 
 
 “It’s a tarnal fact,” panted Abe, waving his hands 
 importantly. He was an old man and appeared to 
 be carried away with the significance of his deed. 
 “He like to rid’ his hoss right over us-all. Then 
 he jumped off, says he was Buck Duane, an’ he 
 wanted to see Jeff Aiken bad.” 
 
 This speech caused a second commotion as noisy 
 though not so enduring as the first. When the cow- 
 boy, assisted by a couple of his mates, had restored 
 order again, some one had slipped the noose-end of 
 Duane’s rope over his head. 
 
 “Up with him!” screeched a wild-eyed youth. 
 
 The mob surged closer was shoved back by the 
 cowboys. 
 
 “Abe, if you ain’t drunk or crazy tell thet over,” 
 ordered Abe’s interlocutor. 
 
 With some show of resentment and more of dig- 
 nity Abe reiterated his former statement. 
 
 “If he’s Buck Duane how’n hell did you get hold 
 of his gun?” bluntly queried the cowboy. 
 
 “Why — he set down thar — an’ he kind of hid his 
 face on his hand. An’ I grabbed his gun an’ got the 
 drop on him.” 
 
 What the cowboy thought of this was expressed 
 in a laugh. His mates likewise grinned broadly. 
 Then the leader turned to Duane. 
 
 185 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “Stranger, I reckon you’d better speak up for 
 yourself,” he said. 
 
 That stilled the crowd as no command had done. 
 
 “I’m Buck Duane, all right.” said Duane, quietly. 
 “It was this way — ” 
 
 The big cowboy seemed to vibrate with a shock. ' 
 All the ruddy warmth left his face; his jaw bega^ 
 to bulge; the corded veins in his neck stood out m 
 knots. In an instant he had a hard, stem, strange 
 look. He shot out a powerful hand that fastened 
 in the front of Duane’s blouse. 
 
 “Somethin’ queer here. But if you’re Duane 
 you’re sure in bad. Any fool ought to know that. 
 You mean it, then?” 
 
 “Yes.” 
 
 “Rode in to shoot up the town, eh? Same old 
 stunt of you gun-fighters? Meant to kill the man 
 who offered a reward? Wanted to see Jeff Aiken- 
 bad, huh?” 
 
 “No,” replied Duane. “Your citizen here mis- 
 represented 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 tc 
 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. 
 
 186 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “I guess that’s it,” replied Duane. 
 
 “Well, it’s powerful strange, if you’re really Buck 
 Duane.” 
 
 A man elbowed his way into the circle. 
 
 “It’s Duane. I recognize him. I seen him in 
 more’n one place,” he said. “Sibert, you can rely 
 on what I tell you. I don’t know if he’s locoed or 
 what. But I do know he’s the genuine Buck Duane. 
 Any one who’d ever seen him onct would never for- 
 get him.” 
 
 “What do you want to see Aiken for?” asked the 
 cowboy Sibert. 
 
 “I want to face him, to tell him I never harmed 
 his wife.” 
 
 “Why?” 
 
 “Because I’m innocent, that’s all.” 
 
 “Suppose we send for Aiken an’ he hears you an’ 
 doesn’t believe you; what then?” 
 
 “If he won’t believe me — why, then my 'case’s so 
 bad — I’d be better off dead.” 
 
 A momentary silence was broken by Sibert. 
 
 “If this isn’t a queer deal! Boys, reckon we’d 
 better send for Jeff.” 
 
 “Somebody went fer him. He’ll be cornin’ soon,” 
 replied a man. 
 
 Duane stood a head taller than that circle of 
 curious faces. He gazed out above and beyond them. 
 It was in this way that he chanced to see a number 
 of women on the outskirts of the crowd. Some 
 were old, with hard faces, like the men. Some were 
 young and comely, and most of these seemed agitated 
 by excitement or distress. They cast fearful, pitying 
 glances upon Duane as he stood there with that 
 13 187 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 noose round his neck. Women were more human 
 than men, Duane thought. He met eyes that di- 
 lated, seemed fascinated at his gaze, but were not 
 averted. It was the old women who were voluble, 
 loud in expression of their feelings. 
 
 Near the trunk of the cottonwood stood a slender 
 -woman in white. Duane’s wandering glance rested 
 upon her. Her eyes were riveted upon him. A 
 soft-hearted woman, probably, who did not want to 
 see him hanged! 
 
 “Thar comes Jeff Aiken now,” called a man, 
 loudly. 
 
 The crowd shifted and trampled in eagerness. 
 
 Duane saw two men coming fast, one of whom, in 
 the lead, was of stalwart build. He had a gun in 
 his hand, and his manner was that of fierce energy. 
 
 The cowboy Sibert thrust open the jostling circle 
 of men. 
 
 “Hold on, Jeff,” he called, and he blocked the 
 man with, the gun. He spoke so low Duane could 
 not hear what he said, and his form hid Aiken’s face. 
 At that juncture the crowd spread out, closed in, 
 and Aiken and Sibert were caught in the circle. 
 There was a pushing forward, a pressing of rricTny 
 bodies, hoarse cries and flinging hands — again the 
 insane tumult was about to break out — the demand 
 for an outlaw’s blood, the call for a wild justice exe- 
 cuted a thousand times before on Texas’s bloody 
 soil. 
 
 Sibert bellowed at the dark encroaching mass. 
 The cowboys with him beat and cuffed in vain. 
 
 “Jeff, will you listen?” broke in Sibert, hurriedly, 
 his hand on the other man’s arm. 
 
 188 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 Aiken nodded coolly. Duane, who had seen many 
 men in perfect control of themselves under circum- 
 stances like these, recognized the spirit that domi- 
 nated Aiken. He was white, cold, passionless. There 
 were lines of bitter grief deep round his lips. If 
 Duane ever felt the meaning of death fee felt it 
 then. 
 
 “Sure this ’s your game, Aiken,” said Sibert. 
 “But hear me a minute. Reckon there’s no doubt 
 about this man bein’ Buck Duane. He seen the 
 placard out at the cross-roads. He rides in to Shir- 
 ley. He says he’s Buck Duane an’ he’s lookin’ for 
 Jeff Aiken. That’s all clear enough. You know 
 how these gun-fighters 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 an’ get the drop on him. More’n that, he gives 
 me some strange talk about how, if he couldn’t make 
 you believe he’s innocent, he’d better be dead. You 
 see for yourself Duane ain’t drunk or crazy or 
 locoed. He doesn’t strike me as a man who rode in 
 here huntin’ blood. So I reckon you’d better hold 
 on till you hear what he has to say.” 
 
 Then for the first time the drawn-faced, hungry- 
 eyed giant turned his gaze upon Duane. He had 
 intelligence which was not yet subservient to pas- 
 sion. Moreover, he seemed the kind of man Duane 
 would care to have judge him in a critical moment 
 like this. 
 
 “Listen,” said Duane, gravely, with his eyes 
 steady on Aiken’s, “I’m Buck Duane. I never lied 
 to any man in my life. I was forced into outlawry. 
 I’ve never had a chance to leave the country. I’ve 
 
 189 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 killed men to save my own life. I never intention- 
 ally harmed any woman. 1 rode thirty miles to- 
 day — deliberately to see what this reward was, 
 who made it, what for. When I read the placard 
 I went sick to the bottom of my soul. So I rode in 
 here to find you — to tell you this : I never saw Shir- 
 ley before to-day. It was impossible for me to 
 have — killed your wife. Last September I was two 
 hundred miles north of here on the upper Nueces. 
 I can prove that. Men who know me will tell you 
 I couldn’t murder a woman. I haven’t any idea 
 why such a deed should be laid at my hands. It’s 
 just that wild border gossip. I have no idea what 
 reasons you have for holding me responsible. I 
 only know — you’re wrong. You’ve been deceived. 
 And see here, Aiken. You understand I’m a miser- 
 able man. I’m about broken, I guess. I don’t 
 care any more for life, for anything. If you can’t 
 look me in the eyes, man to man, and believe what 
 I say — why, by God! you can kill me!” 
 
 Aiken heaved a great breath. 
 
 “Buck Duane, whether I’m impressed or not by 
 what you say needn’t matter. You’ve had accusers, 
 justly or unjustly, as will soon appear. The thing 
 is we can prove you innocent or guilty. My girl 
 Lucy saw my wife’s assailant.” 
 
 He motioned for the crowd of men to open up. 
 “Somebody — you, Sibert — go for Lucy. That ’ll 
 settle this thing.” 
 
 Duane heard as a man in an ugly dream. The 
 faces around him, the hum of voices, all seemed 
 far off. His life hung by the merest thread. Yet 
 he did not think of that so much as of the brand of 
 
 190 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 a woman-murderer which might be soon sealed upon 
 him by a frightened, imaginative child. 
 
 The crowd trooped apart and closed again. Duane 
 caught a blurred image of a slight girl clinging to 
 Sibert’s hand. He could not see distinctly. Aiken 
 lifted the child, whispered soothingly to her not to 
 be afraid. Then he fetched her closer to Duane. 
 
 “Lucy, tell me. Did you ever see this man be- 
 fore?” asked Aiken, huskily and low. “Is he the 
 one — who came in the house that day — struck you 
 down — and dragged mama — ?” 
 
 Aiken’s voice failed. 
 
 A lightning flash seemed to clear Duane’s blurred 
 'ght. He saw a pale, sad face and violet eyes fixed 
 in gloom and horror upon his. No terrible moment 
 in Duane’s life ever equaled this one of silence — of 
 suspense. 
 
 “It ain’t him!” cried the child. 
 
 Then Sibert was flinging the noose off Duane’s 
 neck and unwinding the bonds round his arms. 
 The spellbound crowd awoke to hoarse exclama- 
 tions. 
 
 “See there, my locoed gents, how easy you’d hang 
 the wrong man,” burst out the cowboy, as he made 
 the rope-end hiss. ‘ ‘ You-all are a lot of wise rangers. 
 Haw! haw!” 
 
 He freed Duane and thrust the bone-handled gun 
 back in Duane’s holster. 
 
 “You Abe, there. Reckon you pulled a stunt! 
 But don’t try the like again. And, men, I’ll gamble 
 there’s a hell of a lot of bad work Buck Duane’s 
 named for — which all he never done. Clear away 
 
 191 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 there. Where’s his hoss? Duane, the road’s open 
 out of Shirley.” 
 
 Sibert swept the gaping watchers aside and 
 pressed Duane toward the horse, which another 
 cowboy held. Mechanically Duane mounted, felt a 
 lift as he went up. Then the cowboy’s hard face 
 softened in a smile. 
 
 “I reckon it ain’t uncivil of me to say — hit that 
 road quick!” he said, frankly. 
 
 He led the horse out of the crowd. Aiken joined 
 him, and between them they escorted Duane across 
 the plaza. The crowd appeared irresistibly drawn 
 to follow. 
 
 Aiken paused with his big hand on Duane’s 
 knee. In it, unconsciously probably, he still held 
 the gun. 
 
 “Duane, a word with you,” he said. “I believe 
 you’re not so black as you’ve been painted. I wish 
 there was time to say more. Tell me this, anyway. 
 Do you know the Ranger Captain MacNelly?” 
 
 “I do not,” replied Duane, in surprise. 
 
 “I met him only a week ago over in Fairfield,” 
 went on Aiken, hurriedly. “He declared you never 
 killed my wife. I didn’t believe him — argued with 
 him. We almost had hard words over it. Now — 
 I’m sorry. The last thing he said was : ‘If you ever 
 see Duane don’t kill him. Send him into my camp 
 after dark!’ He meant something strange. What 
 — I can’t say. But he was right, and I was wrong. 
 If Lucy had batted an eye I’d have killed you. 
 Still, I wouldn't advise you to hunt up MacNelly ’s 
 camp. He’s clever. Maybe he believes there’s no 
 treachery in his new ideas of ranger tactics. I tell 
 
 192 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 you for all it’s worth. Good-by. May God help 
 you further as he did this day!” 
 
 Duane said good-by and touched the horse with 
 his spurs. 
 
 “So long, Buck!” called Sibert, with that frank 
 smile breaking warm over his brown face; and he 
 held his sombrero high. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 HEN Duane reached the crossing of the roads 
 
 the name Fairfield on the sign-post seemed to 
 be the thing that tipped the oscillating balance of 
 decision in favor of that direction. 
 
 He answered here to unfathomable impulse. If 
 he had been driven to hunt up Jeff Aiken, now he 
 was called to find this unknown ranger captain. 
 In Duane’s state of mind clear reasoning, common 
 sense, or keenness were out of the question. Fie 
 went because he felt he was compelled. 
 
 Dusk had fallen when he rode into a town which 
 inquiry discovered to be Fairfield. Captain Mac- 
 Nelly’s camp was stationed just out of the village 
 limits on the other side. 
 
 No one except the boy Duane questioned ap- 
 peared to notice his arrival. Like Shirley, the town 
 of Fairfield was large and prosperous, compared 
 to the innumerable hamlets dotting the vast extent 
 of southwestern Texas. As Duane rode through, 
 being careful to get off the main street, he heard 
 the tolling of a church-bell that was a melancholy 
 reminder of his old home. 
 
 There did not appear to be any camp on the out- 
 skirts of the town. But as Duane sat his horse, peer- 
 ing around and undecided what further move to 
 make, he caught the glint of flickering lights through 
 
 194 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 the darkness. Heading toward them, he rode per- 
 haps a quarter of a mile to come upon a grove of 
 mesquite. The brightness of several fires made the 
 surrounding darkness all the blacker. Duane saw 
 the moving forms of men and heard horses. He 
 advanced naturally, expecting any moment to be 
 halted. 
 
 “Who goes there?” came the sharp call out of the 
 
 gloom. 
 
 Duane pulled his horse. The gloom was impene- 
 trable. 
 
 “One man — alone,” replied Duane. 
 
 “A stranger?” 
 
 “Yes.” 
 
 “What do you want?” 
 
 “I’m trying to find the ranger camp.” 
 
 “You’ve struck it. What’s your errand?” 
 
 “I want to see Captain MacNelly.” 
 
 “Get down and advance. Slow. Don’t move 
 your hands. It’s dark, but I can see.” 
 
 Duane dismounted, and, leading his horse, slowly 
 advanced a few paces. He saw a dully bright object 
 — a gun — before he discovered the man who held it. 
 A few more steps showed a dark figure blocking the 
 trail. Here Duane halted. 
 
 “Come closer, stranger. Let’s have a look at 
 you,” the guard ordered, curtly. 
 
 Duane advanced again until he stood before the 
 man. Here the rays of light from the fires flickered 
 upon Duane’s face. 
 
 “Reckon you’re a stranger, all right. What’s 
 your name and your business with the Captain?” 
 Duane - hesitated, pondering what best to say. 
 i95 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 "Tell Captain MacNelly I’m the man he’s been 
 asking to ride into his camp — after dark,” finally 
 said Duane. 
 
 The ranger bent forward to peer hard at this night 
 visitor. His manner had been alert, and now it be- 
 came tense. 
 
 "Come here, one of you men, quick,” he called, 
 without turning in the least toward the camp-fire. 
 
 "Hello! What’s up, Pickens?” came the swift 
 reply. It was followed by a rapid thud of boots on 
 soft ground. A dark form crossed the gleams from 
 the fire-light. Then a ranger loomed up to /each 
 the side of the guard. Duane heard whispering, the 
 purport of which he could not catch. The second 
 ranger swore under his breath. Then he turned 
 away and started back. - 
 
 "Here, ranger, before you go, understand this. 
 My visit is peaceful — friendly if you’ll let it be. 
 Mind, I was asked to come here — after dark.” 
 
 Duane’s clear, penetrating voice carried far. The 
 listening rangers at the camp-fire heard what he said. 
 
 "Ho, Pickens! Tell that fellow to wait,” replied 
 an authoritative voice. Then a slim figure detached 
 itself from the dark, moving group at the camp-fire 
 and hurried out. 
 
 "Better be foxy. Cap,” shouted a ranger, in 
 
 warning. 
 
 "Shut up-— all of you,” was the reply. 
 
 This officer, obviously Captain MacNelly, soon 
 joined the two rangers who were confronting Duane. 
 He had no fear. He strode straight up to Duane. 
 
 ‘I’m MacNelly,” he said. "If you’re my man, 
 don’t mention your name — yet.” 
 
 196 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 All this seemed so strange to Duane, in keeping 
 with much that had happened lately. 
 
 “I met Jeff Aiken to-day,” said Duane. “He 
 sent me — ” 
 
 “You’ve met Aiken!” exclaimed MacNelly, sharp, 
 eager, low. ‘‘By all that’s bully!” Then he ap- 
 peared to catch himself, to grow restrained. 
 
 “Men, fall back, leave us alone a moment.” 
 
 The rangers slowly withdrew. 
 
 “Buck Duane! It’s you?” he whispered, eagerly. 
 
 “Yes.” 
 
 “If I give my word you’ll not be arrested — you’ll 
 be treated fairly — will you come into camp and con- 
 sult with me?” 
 
 “Certainly.” 
 
 “Duane, I’m sure glad to meet you,” went on 
 MacNelly; and he extended his hand. 
 
 Amazed and touched, scarcely realizing this actu- 
 ality, Duane gave his hand and felt no unmistakable 
 grip of warmth. 
 
 “It doesn’t seem natural, Captain MacNelly, but 
 I believe I’m glad to meet you,” said Duane, soberly. 
 
 “You will be. Now we’ll go back to camp. Keep 
 your identity mum for the present.” 
 
 He led Duane in the direction of the camp-fire. 
 
 “Pickens, go back on duty,” he ordered, “and, 
 Beeson, you look after this horse.” 
 
 When Duane got beyond the line of mesquite, 
 which had hid a good view of the camp-site, he saw 
 a group of perhaps fifteen rangers sitting around the 
 fires, near a long low shed vrhere horses were feeding, 
 and a small adobe house at one side. 
 
 “We’ve just had grub, but I’ll see you get some. 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 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 in- 
 formation out of him. Still that would hardly 
 have made this captain so eager. There was a 
 mystery here, and Duane could scarcely wait for it 
 to be solved. While eating he had bent keen eyes 
 around him. After a first quiet scrutiny the rangers 
 apparently paid no more attention to him. They 
 were all veterans in service — Duane saw that — and 
 rugged, powerful men of iron constitution. De- 
 spite the occasional joke and sally of the more youth- 
 ful members, and a general conversation of camp- 
 fire nature, Duane was not deceived about the fact 
 that his advent had been an unusual and striking 
 one, which had caused an undercurrent of conjec- 
 ture 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 Mac- 
 Nelly. As it was, Duane felt a suspense that must 
 have been due to a hint of his identity. 
 
 He was not long in presenting himself at the door 
 of the house. 
 
 “Come in and have a chair,” said MacNelly. 
 
 198 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 motioning for the one other occupant of the room 
 to rise. “Leave us, Russell, and close the door. 
 I’ll be through these reports right off.” 
 
 MacNelly sat at a table upon which was a lamp 
 and various papers. Seen in the light he was a fine- 
 looking, soldierly man of about forty years, dark- 
 haired and dark-eyed, with a bronzed face, shrewd, 
 stern, strong, yet not wanting in kindliness. He 
 scanned hastily over some papers, fussed with them, 
 and finally put them in envelopes. Without look- 
 ing up he pushed a cigar-case toward Duane, and 
 upon Duane’s refusal to smoke he took a cigar, rose 
 to light it at the lamp-chimney, and then, settling 
 back in his chair, he faced Duane, making a vain 
 attempt to hide what must have been the fulfil- 
 ment of a long-nourished curiosity. 
 
 “Duane, I’ve been hoping for this for two years,” 
 he began. 
 
 Duane smiled a little — a smile that felt strange 
 on his face. He had never been much of a talker. 
 And speech here seemed more than ordinarily diffi- 
 cult. 
 
 MacNelly must have felt that. 
 
 He looked long and earnestly at Duane, and his 
 quick, nervous manner changed to grave thought- 
 fulness. 
 
 “I’ve lots to say, but where to begin,” he mused. 
 “Duane, you’ve had a hard life since you went on 
 the dodge. I never met you before, don’t know 
 what you looked like as a boy. But I can see 
 what — well, even ranger life isn’t all roses.” 
 
 He rolled his cigar between his lips and puffed 
 clouds of smoke. 
 
 199 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “Ever hear from home since you left WeHston?” 
 he asked, abruptly. 
 
 “No.” 
 
 “Never a word?” 
 
 “Not one,” replied Duane, sadly. 
 
 “That’s tough. I’m glad to be able to tell you 
 that up to just lately your mother, sister, uncle — ail 
 your folks, I believe — were well. I’ve kept posted. 
 But haven’t heard lately.” 
 
 Duane averted his face a moment, hesitated till 
 the swelling left his throat, and then said, “It’s 
 worth what I went through to-day to hear that.” 
 “I can imagine how you feel about it. When I 
 was in the war — but let’s get down to the business 
 of this meeting.” 
 
 He pulled his chair close to Duane’s. 
 
 “You’ve had word more than once in the last 
 two years that I wanted to see you?” 
 
 “Three times, I remember,” replied Duane. 
 “Why didn’t you hunt me up?” 
 
 “I supposed you imagined me one of those gun- 
 fighters who couldn’t take a dare and expected me 
 to ride up to your camp and be arrested.” 
 
 “That was natural, I suppose,” went on MacNelly. 
 “You didn’t know 1 me, otherwise you would have 
 come. I’ve been a long time getting to you. But 
 the nature of my job, as far as you’re concerned, 
 made me cautious. Duane, you’re aware of the 
 hard name you bear all over the Southwest?” 
 “Once in a while I’m jarred into realizing,” re- 
 plied Duane. 
 
 “It’s the hardest, barring Murrell and Cheseldine, 
 on the Texas border. But there’s this difference. 
 
 200 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 Morrell in his day was known to deserve his in- 
 famous 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 1 
 would call crime, or any reasonable Texan.” 
 
 “That way my hands are clean,” replied Duane. 
 
 “You never held up a man, robbed a store for 
 grub, stole a horse when you needed him bad — 
 never anything like that?” 
 
 “Somehow 7 I always kept out of that, just when 
 pressed the hardest.” 
 
 “Duane, I’m damn glad!” MacNelly exclaimed, 
 gripping Duane’s hand. “Glad for your mother’s 
 sake! But, all the same, in spite of this, you are a 
 Texas outlaw accountable to the state. You’re per- 
 fectly aware that under existing circumstances, if 
 you fell into the hands of the law, you’d probably 
 hang, at least go to jail for a long term.” 
 
 “That’s what kept me on the dodge all these years,” 
 replied Duane. 
 
 “Certainly.” MacNelly removed his cigar. His 
 eyes narrowed and glittered. The muscles along 
 his brown cheeks set hard and tense. He leaned 
 closer to Duane, laid sinewy, pressing fingers upon 
 Duane’s knee. 
 
 “Listen to this,” he whispered, hoarsely. “If I 
 place a pardon in your hand — make you a free, 
 honest citizen once more, clear your name of in- 
 
 201 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 famy, make your mother, your sister proud of you 
 — will you swear yourself to a service, any service 
 I demand of you?” 
 
 Duane sat stock still, stunned. 
 
 Slowly, more persuasively, with show of earnest 
 agitation, Captain MacNelly reiterated his startling 
 query. 
 
 ‘‘My God!” burst from Duane. “What’s this? 
 MacNelly, you can't be in earnest!” 
 
 “Never more so in my life. I’ve a deep game. 
 I’m playing it square. What do you say?” 
 
 He rose to his feet. Duane, as if impelled, rose 
 with him. Ranger and outlaw then locked eyes that 
 searched each other’s souls. In MacNelly’s Duane 
 read truth, strong, fiery purpose, hope, even glad- 
 ness, and a fugitive mounting assurance of victory. 
 
 Twice Duane endeavored to speak, failed of all 
 save a hoarse, incoherent sound, until, forcing back 
 a flood of speech, he found a voice. 
 
 “Any service? Every service! MacNelly, I give 
 my word,” said Duane. 
 
 A light played over MacNelly’s face, warming out 
 all the grim darkness. He held out his hand. Duane 
 met it with his in a clasp that men unconsciously 
 give in moments of stress. 
 
 When they unclasped and Duane stepped back to 
 drop into a chair MacNelly fumbled for another 
 cigar — -he had bitten the other into shreds — and, 
 lighting it as before, he turned to his visitor, now calm 
 and cool. He had the look of a man who had justly 
 won something at considerable cost. His next move 
 was to take a long leather case from his pocket and 
 extract from it several folded papers. 
 
 202 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “Here’s your pardon from the Governor,” he said, 
 quietly. “You’ll see, when you look it over, that it’s 
 conditional. "When you sign this paper I have here 
 the condition will be met.” 
 
 He smoothed out the paper, handed Duane a pen, 
 ran his forefinger along a dotted line. 
 
 Duane’s hand was shaky. Years had passed since 
 he had held a pen. It was with difficulty that 
 he achieved his signature. Buckley Duane— how 
 strange the name looked 1 
 
 “Right here ends the career of Buck Duane, out- 
 law and gun-fighter,” said MacNelly; and, seating 
 himself, he took the pen from Duane’s fingers and 
 wrote several lines in several places upon the paper. 
 Then with a smile he handed it to Duane. 
 
 “That makes you a member of Company A, 
 Texas Rangers.” 
 
 “So that’s it!” burst out Duane, a light breaking 
 in upon his bewilderment. “You want me for ranger 
 service?” 
 
 “Sure. That’s it,” replied the Captain, dryly. 
 “Now to hear what that service is to be. I’ve been 
 a busy man since I took this job, and, as you may 
 have heard, I’ve done a few things. I don’t mind 
 telling you that political influence put me in here 
 and that up Austin way there’s a good deal of fric- 
 tion in the Department of State in regard to whether 
 or not the ranger service is any good — whether it 
 should be discontinued or not. I’m on the party 
 side who’s defending the ranger service. I contend 
 that it’s made Texas habitable. Well, it’s been up 
 to me to produce results. So far I have been success- 
 ful. My great ambition is to break up the outlaw 
 
 14 20* 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 gangs along the river. I have never ventured in 
 there yet because I’ve been waiting to get the lieu- 
 tenant 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 Gheseldine. He’s the strongest, the 
 worst outlaw of the times. He’s more than rustler. 
 It’s Cheseldine and his gang who are operating on 
 the banks. They’re doing bank-robbing. That’s 
 my private opinion, but it’s not been backed up by 
 any evidence. Cheseldine doesn’t leave evidences. 
 He’s intelligent, cunning. No one seems to have 
 seen him-— to know what he looks like. I assume, of 
 course, that you are a stranger to the country he 
 dominates. It’s five hundred miles west of your 
 ground. There’s a little town over there called Fair- 
 dale. 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 
 
 304 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 get among them somehow, to learn their movements, 
 to lay your trap for us rangers to spring — that, 
 Duane, is your service to me, and God knows it’s 
 a great one!” 
 
 “I have accepted it,” replied Duane. 
 
 ‘‘Your work will be secret. You are now a ranger 
 in my service. But no one except the few I choose 
 to tell will know of it until we pull off the job. You- 
 will simply be Buck Duane till it suits our purpose 
 to acquaint Texas with the fact that you’re a ranger. 
 You’ll see there’s no date on that paper. No one 
 will ever know just when you entered the service. 
 Perhaps we can make it appear that all or most of 
 your outlawry has really been good service to the 
 state. At that, I’ll believe it ’ll turn out so.” 
 
 MacNelly paused a moment in his rapid talk, 
 chewed his cigar, drew his brows together in a dark 
 frown, and went on. “No man on the border knows 
 so well as you the deadly nature of this sendee. 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 out- 
 laws. Maybe that and your nerve and your gun- 
 play will pull you through. I’m hoping so. But 
 it’s a long, long chance against your ever coming 
 back.” 
 
 “That’s not the point,” said Duane. “But in 
 case I get killed out there — what — ” 
 
 “Leave that to me,” interrupted Captain Mac- 
 Nelly. “ You folks will know at once of your par- 
 don and your ranger duty. If you lose your life 
 out there I’ll see your name cleared — the sendee you 
 render known. You can rest assured of that.” 
 
 205 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 ‘ ‘ I am satisfied, ’ ’ replied Duane. ‘ ‘ That’s so much 
 more than I’ve dared to hope.” 
 
 “Well, it’s settled, then. I’ll give you money for 
 expenses. You’ll start as soon as you like — the sooner 
 the better. I hope to think of other suggestions, 
 especially about communicating with me.” 
 
 Long after the lights were out and the low hum 
 of voices had ceased round the camp-fire Duane lay 
 wide awake, eyes staring into the blackness, marvel- 
 ing over the strange events of the day. He was 
 humble, grateful to the depths of his soul. A huge 
 and crushing burden had been lifted from his heart. 
 He welcomed this hazardous service to the man 
 who had saved him. Thought of his mother and 
 sister and Uncle Jim, of his home, of old friends 
 came rushing over him the first time in years that 
 he had happiness in the memory. The disgrace he 
 had put upon them would now be removed; and in 
 the light of that, his wasted life of the past, and its 
 probable tragic end in future service as atonement 
 changed their aspects. And as he lay there, with 
 the approach of sleep finally dimming the vividness 
 of his thought, so full of mystery, shadowy faces 
 floated in the blackness around him, haunting him 
 as he had always been haunted. 
 
 It was broad daylight when he awakened. Mac- 
 Nelly was calling him to breakfast. Outside sounded 
 voices of men, crackling of fires, snorting and stamp- 
 ing of horses, the barking of dogs. Duane rolled out 
 of his blankets and made good use of the soap and 
 towel and razor and brush near by on a bench — 
 things of rare luxury to an outlaw on the ride. The 
 face he saw in the mirror was as strange as the past 
 
 206 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 he had tried so hard to recall. Then he stepped to 
 the door and went out. 
 
 The rangers were eating in a circle round a tar- 
 paulin spread upon the ground. 
 
 “Fellows,” said MacNelly, “shake hands with 
 Buck Duane. He’s on secret ranger service for me. 
 Service that ’ll likely make you all hump soon! 
 Mind you. keep mum about it.” 
 
 The rangers surprised Duane with a roaring greet- 
 ing, the warmth of which he soon divined was di- 
 vided 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 for- 
 getting his lone-wolf record. When he had seated 
 himself in that circle, now one of them, a feeling 
 subtle and uplifting pervaded him. 
 
 After the meal Captain MacNelly drew Duane aside. 
 
 “Here’s the money. Make it go as far as you can. 
 Better strike straight for El Paso, snook around 
 there and hear things. Then go to Valentine. That’s 
 near the river and within fifty miles or so of the edge 
 of the Rim Rock. Somewhere up there Cheseldine 
 holds fort. Somewhere to the north is the town 
 Fairdale. But he doesn’t hide all the time in the 
 rocks. Only after some daring raid or hold-up. 
 Cheseldine’s got border towns on his staff, or scared 
 of him, and these places we want to know about, 
 especially Fairdale. Write me care of the adjutant 
 at Austin. I don’t have to warn you to be careful 
 where you mail letters. Ride a hundred, two hun- 
 dred miles, if necessary, or go clear to El Paso.” 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 MacNeUy stopped with an air of finality, and 
 iifcen Duane slowly rose. 
 
 “I’ll start at once,” he said, extending his hand 
 to the Captain. “I wish — I’d like to thank you!” 
 “Hell, man! Don’t thank me!” replied MacNelly, 
 crushing the proffered hand. “I’ve sent a lot of 
 good men to their deaths, and maybe you’re another. 
 But, as I’ve said, you’ve one chance in a thousand. 
 And, by Heaven! I’d hate to be Cheseldine or any 
 other man you were trailing. No, not good-by — 
 Adios, Duane! May we meet again!” 
 
Book II 
 
 THE RANGER 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 TEST of the Pecos River Texas extended a 
 
 vast wild region, barren in the north, wh&re 
 the Llano Estacado spread its shifting sands, fertile 
 in the south along the Rio Grande, A railroad 
 marked an undeviating course across five hundred 
 miles of this country, and the only villages and towns 
 lay on or near this line of steel. Unsettled as was 
 this western Texas, and despite the acknowledged 
 dominance of the outlaw bands, the pioneers pushed 
 steadily into it. First had come the lone rancher; 
 then his neighbors in near and far valleys; then the 
 hamlets; at last the railroad and the towns. And 
 still the pioneers came, spreading deeper into the 
 valleys, farther and wider over the plains. It was 
 mesquite-dotted, cactus- covered desert, but rich soil 
 upon which water acted like magic. There was little 
 grass to an acre, but there were millions of acres. 
 The climate was wonderful. Cattle flourished and 
 ranchers prospered. 
 
 The Rio Grande flowed almost due south along 
 the western boundary for a thousand miles, and 
 then, weary of its course, turned abruptly north, 
 to make what was called the Big Bend. The rail- 
 road, 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 
 
 2X1 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 Staked Plains. It contained not one settlement. 
 Across the face of this Big Bend, as if to isolate it, 
 stretched the Ord mountain range, of which Mount 
 Ord, Cathedral Mount, and Elephant Mount raised 
 bleak peaks above their fellows. In the valleys of 
 the foothills and out across the plains were ranches, 
 and farther north, villages, and the towns of Alpine 
 and Marfa. 
 
 Like other parts of the great Lone Star State, 
 this section of Texas was a world in itself — a world 
 where the riches of the rancher were ever enriching 
 the outlaw. The village closest to the gateway of 
 this outlaw-infested region was a little place called 
 Ord, named after the dark peak that loomed some 
 miles to the south. It had been settled originally by 
 Mexicans — there were still the ruins of adobe mis- 
 sions — but with the advent of the rustler and out- 
 law many inhabitants were shot or driven away, so 
 that at the height of Ord’s prosperity and evil sway 
 there were but few Mexicans living there, and these 
 had their choice between holding hand-and-glove 
 with the outlaws or furnishing target practice for 
 that wild element. 
 
 Toward the close of a day in September a stranger 
 rode into Ord, and in a community where all men 
 were remarkable for one reason or another he excited 
 interest. His horse, perhaps, received the first and 
 most engaging attention — horses in that region being 
 apparently more important than men. This par- 
 ticular 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 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 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 Bne, the character of the head. This one 
 denoted fire, speed, blood, loyalty, and his eyes 
 were as soft and dark as a woman’s. His face 
 was solid black, except in the middle of his fore- 
 head, where there was a round spot of white. 
 
 “Say mister, mind tellin’ me his name?” asked a 
 ragged urchin, with bom love of a horse in his eyes. 
 
 “Bullet,” replied the rider. 
 
 “Thet there’s fer the white mark, ain’t it?” whis- 
 pered the youngster to another. “Say, ain’t he a 
 whopper? Biggest hoss I ever seen.” 
 
 Bullet carried a huge black silver-ornamented sad- 
 dle of Mexican make, a lariat and canteen, and a 
 small pack rolled into a tarpaulin. 
 
 This rider apparently put all care of appearances 
 upon his horse. His apparel was the ordinary jeans 
 of the cowboy without vanity, and it was torn and 
 travel-stained. His boots showed evidence of an 
 intimate acquaintance with cactus. Like his horse, 
 this man was a giant in stature, but rangier, not 
 so heavily built. Otherwise the only striking thing 
 about him was his somber face with its piercing eyes, 
 and hair white over the temples. He packed two 
 guns, both low down — but that was too common a 
 thing to attract notice in the Big Bend. A close 
 observer, however, would have noted a singular fact 
 — this rider’s right hand was more bronzed, more 
 weather-beaten than his left. He never wore a glove 
 on that right hand! 
 
 213 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 He had dismounted before a ramshackle structure 
 that bore upon its wide, high-boarded front the 
 sign, “Hotel.” There were horsemen coming and 
 going down the wide street between its rows of old 
 stores, saloons, and houses. Ord certainly did not 
 look enterprising. Americans had manifestly assimi- 
 lated much of the leisure of the Mexicans. The 
 hotel had a wide platform in front, and this did duty 
 as porch and sidewalk. Upon it, and leaning against 
 a hitching-rail, were men of varying ages, most of 
 them slovenly in old jeans and slouched sombreros. 
 Some were booted, belted, and spurred. No man 
 there wore a coat, but all wore vests. The guns in 
 that group would have outnumbered the men. 
 
 It was a crowd seemingly too lazy to be curious. 
 Good nature did not appear to be wanting, but it 
 was not the frank and boisterous kind natural to 
 the cowboy or rancher in town fra day. These 
 men were idlers; what else, perhaps, was easy to 
 conjecture. Certainly to this arriving stranger, who 
 flashed a keen eye over them, they wore an atmos- 
 phere never associated with work. 
 
 Presently a tall man, with a drooping, sandy mus- 
 tache, leisurely detached himself from the crowd. 
 
 “Howdy, stranger,” he said. 
 
 The stranger had bent over to loosen the cinches; 
 he straightened up and nodded. Then : ‘ ‘I’m thirsty !’ ’ 
 
 That brought a broad smile to faces. It was 
 characteristic greeting. One and all trooped after 
 the stranger into the hotel. It was a dark, ill-smelling 
 barn of a place, with a bar as high as a short man’s 
 head. A bartender with a scarred face was serving 
 drinks. 
 
 214 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “line up, gents,” said the stranger. 
 
 They piled over one another to get to the bar. 
 with coarse jests and oaths and laughter. None 
 of them noted that the stranger did not appear so 
 thirsty as he had claimed to be. In fact, though 
 he went through the motions, he did not drink at all. 
 
 • “My name’s Jim Fletcher,” said the tall man with 
 the drooping, sandy mustache. He spoke laconically, 
 nevertheless there was a tone that showed he expect- 
 ed to be known. Something went with that name. 
 The stranger did not appear to be impressed. 
 
 “My name might be Blazes, but it ain’t,” he 
 replied. “What do you call this burg?” 
 
 “Stranger, this heah me-tropoles bears the handle 
 Ord. Is thet new to you?” 
 
 He leaned back against the bar, and now his little 
 yellow eyes, clear as crystal, flawless as a hawk’s, 
 fixed on the stranger. Other men crowded close, 
 forming a circle, curious, ready to be friendly or 
 otherwise, according to how the tall interrogator 
 marked the new-comer. 
 
 “Sure, Ord’s a little strange to me. Off the rail- 
 road some, ain’t it? Funny trails hereabouts.” 
 “How fur was you goin’?” 
 
 “I reckon I was goin’ as far as I could,” replied 
 the stranger, with a hard laugh. 
 
 His reply had subtle reaction on that listening 
 circle. Some of the men exchanged glances. Fletcher 
 stroked his drooping mustache, seemed thoughtful, 
 but lost something of that piercing scrutiny. 
 
 “Wal, Ord’s the jumpin’-off place,” he said, pres- 
 ently. “Sure you’ve heerd of the Big Bend coun- 
 try?” 
 
 215 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “I sure have, an’ 'was makin’ tracks fer it,” re- 
 plied the stranger. 
 
 Fletcher turned toward a man in the outer edge 
 of the group. ‘‘Knell, come in heah.” 
 
 This individual elbowed his way in and was seen 
 to be scarcely more than a boy, almost pale beside 
 those bronzed men, with a long, expressionless face, 
 thin and sharp. 
 
 “Knell, this heah’s — ” Fletcher wheeled to the 
 stranger. “What ’d you call yourself?” 
 
 “I’d hate to mention what I’ve been callin’ myself 
 lately.” 
 
 This sally fetched another laugh. The stranger 
 appeared cool, careless, indifferent. Perhaps he 
 knew, as the others present knew, that this show of 
 Fletcher’s, this pretense of introduction, was merely 
 talk while he was looked over. 
 
 Knell stepped up, and it was easy to see, from 
 the way Fletcher relinquished his part in the situa- 
 tion, that a man greater than he had appeared upon 
 the scene. 
 
 “Any business here?” he queried, curtly. When 
 he spoke his expressionless face was in strange con- 
 trast with the ring, the quality, the cruelty of his 
 voice. This voice betrayed an absence of humor, of 
 friendliness, of heart. 
 
 “Nope,” replied the stranger. 
 
 “Know anybody hereabouts?” 
 
 “Nary one.” 
 
 “Jest ridin’ through?” 
 
 “Yep.” 
 
 “Slopin’ fer back country, eh?” 
 
 There came a pause. The stranger appeared to 
 
 2l6 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 grow a little resentful and drew himself up dis- 
 dainfully. 
 
 “Wal, considerin’ you-all seem so damn friendly 
 an’ oncurious down here in this Big Bend country, 
 I don’t mind savin’ yes — I am in on the dodge,” he 
 replied, with deliberate sarcasm. 
 
 ‘‘From west of Ord — out El Paso way, mebbe?” 
 
 ‘‘Sure.” 
 
 ‘‘A-huh! Thet so?” Knell’s words cut the air, 
 stilled the room. ' “You’re from way down the river. 
 Thet’s what they say down there — ‘on the dodge.’ 
 . . . Stranger, you’re a liar!” 
 
 With swift clink of spur and thump of boot the 
 crowd split, leaving Knell and the stranger in the 
 center. 
 
 Wild breed of that ilk never made a mistake in 
 judging a man’s nerve. Knell had cut out with the 
 trenchant call, and stood ready. The stranger sud- 
 denly lost his every semblance to the rough and 
 easy character before manifest in him. He became 
 bronze. That situation seemed familiar to him. 
 His eyes held a singular piercing light that danced 
 like a compass-needle. 
 
 “Sure I lied,” he said; “so I ain’t takin’ offense 
 at the way you called me. I’m lookin’ to make 
 friends, not enemies. You don’t strike me as one 
 of them four-flushes, achin’ to kill somebody. But 
 if you are — go ahead an’ open the ball. . . .You 
 see, I never throw a gun on them fellers till they 
 go fer theirs.” 
 
 Knell coolly eyed his antagonist, his strange face 
 not changing in the least. Yet somehow it was 
 evident in his look that here was metal which rang 
 
 217 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 differently from what he had expected. Invited to 
 start a fight or withdraw, as he chose, Knell proved 
 himself big in the manner characteristic of only 
 the genuine gunman. 
 
 “Stranger, I pass,” he said, and, turning to the 
 bar, he ordered liquor. 
 
 The tension relaxed, the silence broke, the men 
 filled up the gap; the incident seemed closed. Jim 
 Fletcher attached himself to the stranger, and now 
 both respect and friendliness tempered his asperity. 
 
 “Wal, fer want of a better handle I’ll call you 
 Dodge,” he said. 
 
 “Dodge’s as good as any. . . . Gents, line up 
 again — an’ if you can’t be friendly, be camful!” 
 
 Such was Buck Duane’s debut in the little outlaw 
 hamlet of Ord. 
 
 Duane had been three months out of the Nueces 
 country. At El Paso he bought the finest horse he 
 could find, and, armed and otherwise outfitted to 
 suit him, he had taken to unknown trails. Leisurely 
 he rode from town to town, village to village, ranch 
 to ranch, fitting his talk and his occupation to the 
 impression he wanted to make upon different people 
 whom he met. He was in turn a cowboy, a rancher, 
 a cattleman, a stock-buyer, a boomer, a land-hunter; 
 and long before he reached the wild and inhospitable 
 Ord he had acted the part of an outlaw, drifting 
 into new territory. He passed on leisurely because 
 he wanted to learn the lay of the country, the loca- 
 tion of villages and ranches, the work, habit, gossip, 
 pleasures, and fears of the people with whom he 
 came in contact. The one subject most impelling 
 to him — outlaws — he never mentioned ; but by talk- 
 
 ei8 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 ing all around it, sifting the old ranch and cattle 
 story, he acquired a knowledge calculated to aid 
 his plot. In this game time was of no moment; if 
 necessary he would take years to accomplish his 
 task. The stupendous and perilous nature of it 
 showed in the slow, wary preparation. When he 
 heard Fletcher’s name and faced Knell he knew he 
 had reached the place he sought. Ord was a hamlet 
 on the fringe of the grazing country, of doubtful 
 honesty, from which, surely, winding trails led down 
 into that free and never-disturbed paradise of out- 
 laws — the Big Bend. 
 
 Duane made himself agreeable, yet not too much 
 so, to Fletcher and several other men disposed to 
 talk and drink and eat; and then, after having a 
 care for his horse, he rode out of town a couple of 
 miles to a grove he had marked, and there, well 
 hidden, he prepared to spend the night. This pro- 
 ceeding served a double purpose — he was safer, and 
 the habit would look well in the eyes of outlaws, 
 who would be more inclined to see in him the lone- 
 wolf fugitive. 
 
 Long since Duane had fought out a battle with 
 himself, won a hard-earned victory. His outer life, 
 the action, was much the same as it had been; but 
 the inner life had tremendously changed. He could 
 never become a happy man, he could never shake 
 utterly those haunting phantoms that had once 
 been his despair and madness; but he had assumed 
 a task impossible for any man save one like him, 
 he had felt the meaning of it grow strangely and 
 wonderfully, and through that flourished up con- 
 sciousness of how passionately he now clung to this 
 
 2 10 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 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 for- 
 got that he was free. Strangely, too, along with 
 this feeling of new manhood there gathered the force 
 of imperious desire to run these chief outlaws to 
 their dooms. He never called them outlaws — but 
 rustlers, thieves, robbers, murderers, criminals. He 
 sensed the growth of a relentless driving passion, 
 and sometimes he feared that, more than the newly 
 acquired zeal and pride in this ranger service, it was 
 the old, terrible inherited killing instinct lifting its 
 hydra-head in new guise. But of that he could not be 
 sure. He dreaded the thought. He could only wait. 
 
 Another aspect of the change in Duane, neither 
 passionate nor driving, yet not improbably even 
 more potent of new significance to life, was the im- 
 perceptible 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 com- 
 panion, 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 greet- 
 ing, a promise of another day to ride, to plan, to 
 
 220 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 remember, and sun, wind, cloud, rain, sky — all were 
 joys to him, somehow speaking his freedom. For 
 years the night had been a black space, during 
 which he had to ride unseen along the endless trails, 
 to peer with cat-eyes through gloom for the moving 
 shape that ever pursued him; now the twilight and 
 the dusk and the shadows of grove and canon dark- 
 ened 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 proces- 
 sion of the old phantoms, then sleep. For years 
 canons and valleys and mountains had been looked 
 at as retreats that might be dark and wild enough 
 to hide even an outlaw; now he saw these features 
 of the great desert with something of the eyes of the 
 boy who had once burned for adventure and life 
 among them. 
 
 This night a wonderful afterglow lingered long in 
 the west, and against the golden-red of clear sky the 
 bold, black head of Mount Ord reared itself aloft, 
 beautiful but aloof, sinister yet calling. Small won- 
 der 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 Chesel- 
 dine, of his band, his fearful deeds, his cunning, 
 his widely separated raids, of his flitting here and 
 there like a Jack-o’-lantem; but never a word of his 
 den, never a word of his appearance. 
 
 Next morning Duane did not return to Ord. He 
 struck off to the north, riding down a rough, slow- 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 descending road that appeared to have been used 
 occasionally for cattle-driving. As he had ridden 
 in from the west, this northern direction led him 
 into totally unfamiliar country. While he passed 
 on, however, he exercised such keen observation 
 that in the future he would know whatever might 
 be of service to him if he chanced that way again. 
 
 The rough, wild, brush-covered slope down from 
 the foothills gradually leveled out into plain, a mag- 
 nificent 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 Brad- 
 ford. It was the largest town he had visited since 
 Marfa, and he calculated must have a thousand 
 or fifteen hundred inhabitants, not including Mexi- 
 cans. He decided this would be a good place for 
 him to hold up for a while, being the nearest town 
 to Ord, only forty miles away. So he hitched his 
 horse in front of a store and leisurely set about 
 studying Bradford. 
 
 It was after dark, however, that Duane verified 
 his suspicions concerning Bradford. The town was 
 awake after dark, and there was one long row of 
 saloons, dance-halls, gambling-resorts in full blast. 
 Duane visited them all, and was surprised to see 
 wildness and license equal to that of the old river 
 camp of Bland’s in its palmiest days. Here it was 
 forced upon him that the farther west one traveled 
 along the river the sparser the respectable settle- 
 ments, the more numerous the hard characters, and 
 in consequence the greater the element of lawless- 
 
 222 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 ness. Duane returned to his lodging-house with 
 the conviction that MacNelly’s task of cleaning up 
 the Big Bend country was a stupendous one. Yet, 
 he reflected, a company of intrepid and quick-shoot- 
 ing rangers could have soon cleaned up this Brad- 
 ford. 
 
 The innkeeper had one other guest that night, 
 a long black-coated and wide-sombreroed Texan who 
 reminded Duane of his grandfather. This man had 
 penetrating eyes, a courtly manner, and an unmis- 
 takable leaning toward companionship and mint- 
 juleps. The gentleman introduced himself as Colonel 
 Webb, of Marfa, and took it as a matter of course 
 that Duane made no comment about himself. 
 
 “Sir, it’s all one to me,” he said, blandly, waving 
 his hand. “I have traveled. Texas is free, and this 
 frontier is one where it’s healthier and just as 
 friendly for a man to have no curiosity about his 
 companion. You might be Cheseldine, of the Big 
 Bend, or you might be Judge Little, of El Paso — it’s 
 all one to me. I enjoy drinking with you anyway.” 
 
 Duane thanked him, conscious of a reserve and 
 dignity that he could not have felt or pretended 
 three months before. And then, as always, he was 
 a good listener. Colonel Webb told, among other 
 things, that he had come out to the Big Bend to 
 look over the affairs of a deceased brother who had 
 been a rancher and a sheriff of one of the towns, 
 Fairdale by name. 
 
 “Found no affairs, no ranch, not even his grave,” 
 said Colonel Webb. “And I tell you, sir, if hell’s 
 any tougher than this Fairdale I don’t want to 
 expiate my sins there.” 
 
 223 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “Fairdale. ... I imagine sheriffs have a hard 
 row to hoe out here,” replied Duane, trying not to 
 appear curious. 
 
 The Colonel swore lustily. 
 
 “My brother was the only honest sheriff Fairdale 
 ever had. It was wonderful how long he lasted. 
 But he had nerve, he could throw a gun, and he 
 was on the square. Then he was wise enough to 
 confine his work to offenders of his own town and 
 neighborhood. He let the riding outlaws alone, else 
 he wouldn’t have lasted at all. . . . What this 
 frontier needs, sir, is about six companies of Texas 
 Rangers.” 
 
 Duane was aware of the Colonel’s close scrutiny. 
 
 “Do you know anything about the service?” he 
 asked. 
 
 “I used to. Ten years ago when I lived in San 
 Antonio. A fine body of men, sir, and the salvation 
 of Texas.” 
 
 “Governor Stone doesn’t entertain that opinion,” 
 said Duane. 
 
 Here Colonel Webb exploded. Manifestly the 
 governor was not his choice for a chief executive of 
 the great state. He talked politics for a while, and 
 of the vast territory west of the Pecos that seemed 
 never to get a benefit from Austin. Fie talked 
 enough for Duane to realize that here was just the 
 kind of intelligent, well-informed, honest citizen that 
 he had been trying to meet. Fie exerted himself 
 thereafter to be agreeable and interesting; and he 
 saw presently that here was an opportunity to make 
 a valuable acquaintance, if not a friend. 
 
 “I’m a stranger in these parts,” said Duane, 
 224 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 finally. “What is this outlaw situation you speak 
 of?” 
 
 “It’s damnable, sir, and unbelievable. Not rus- 
 tling any more, but just wholesale herd-stealing, 
 in which some big cattlemen, supposed to be honest, 
 are equally guilty with the outlaws. On this border, 
 you know, the rustler has always been able to steal 
 cattle in any numbers. But to get rid of big bunches 
 — that’s the hard job. The gang operating between 
 here and Valentine evidently have not this trouble. 
 Nobody knows where the stolen stock goes. But 
 I’m not alone in my opinion that most of it goes 
 to several big stockmen. They ship to San Antonio, 
 Austin, New Orleans, also to El Paso. If you 
 travel the stock-road between here and Marfa and 
 Valentine you’ll see dead cattle all along the line 
 and stray cattle out in the scrub. The herds have 
 been driven fast and far, and stragglers are not 
 rounded up.” 
 
 “Wholesale business, eh?” remarked Duane. 
 “Who are these — er — big stock-buyers?” 
 
 Colonel Webb seemed a little startled at the 
 abrupt query. He bent his penetrating gaze upon 
 Duane and thoughtfully stroked his pointed beard. 
 
 “Names, of course, I’ll not mention. Opinions 
 are one thing, direct accusation another. This is 
 not a healthy country for the informer.” 
 
 When it came to the outlaws themselves Colonel 
 Webb was disposed to talk freely. Duane could not 
 judge whether the Colonel had a hobby of that sub- 
 ject 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 
 
 225 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 it seemed to be a name detached from an individual. 
 No person of veracity known to Colonel Webb had 
 ever seen Cheseldine, and those who claimed that 
 doubtful honor varied so diversely in descriptions of 
 the chief that they confused the reality and lent to 
 the outlaw only further mystery. Strange to say 
 of an outlaw leader, as there was no one who could 
 identify him, so there was no one who could prove 
 he had actually killed a man. Blood flowed like 
 water over the Big Bend country, and it was Chesel- 
 dine who spilled it. Yet the fact remained there were 
 no eye-witnesses to connect any individual called 
 Cheseldine with these deeds of violence. But in 
 striking contrast to this mystery was the person, 
 character, and cold-blooded action of Poggin and 
 Knell, the chief’s lieutenants. They were familiar 
 figures in all the towns within two hundred miles of 
 Bradford. Knell had a record, but as gunman with 
 an incredible list of victims Poggin was supreme. If 
 Poggin had a friend no one ever heard of him. 
 There were a hundred stories of his nerve, his won- 
 derful speed with a gun, his passion for gambling, 
 his love of a horse — his cold, implacable, inhuman 
 wiping out of his path any man that crossed it. 
 
 “Cheseldine is a name, a terrible name,” said 
 Colonel Webb. “Sometimes I wonder if he’s not 
 only a name. In that case where does the brains 
 of this gang come from? No; there must be a 
 master craftsman behind this border pillage; a 
 master capable of handling those terrors Poggin and 
 Knell. Of all the thousands of outlaws developed 
 by western Texas in the last twenty years these 
 three are the greatest. In southern Texas, down 
 
 226 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 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?” re- 
 turned 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 out- 
 law leaders, I believe — Bland, Hardin, and the 
 other I forgot. Hardin was known in the Big Bend, 
 had friends there. Bland had a hard name at Del 
 Rio.” 
 
 “Then thr's man Duane enjoys rather an unusual 
 repute west of the Pecos?” inquired Duane. 
 
 “He’s considered more of an enemy to his kind 
 than to honest men. I understand Duane had 
 many friends, that whole counties swear by him — 
 secretly, of course, for he’s a hunted outlaw with 
 rewards on his head. His fame in this country 
 appears to hang on his matchless gun-play and his 
 enmity toward outlaw chiefs. I’ve heard many a 
 rancher say: ‘I wish to God that Buck Duane 
 
 would drift out here! I’d give a hundred pesos to 
 see him and Poggin meet.’ It’s a singular thing, 
 stranger, how jealous these great outlaws are of 
 each other.” 
 
 227 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “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, cer- 
 tainly get bigger, more daring. There are some 
 people who think Cheseldine had nothing to do with 
 the bank-robberies and train-holdups during the last 
 few years in this country. But that’s poor reason- 
 ing. The jobs have been too well done, too surely 
 covered, to be the work of greasers or ordinary out- 
 laws.” 
 
 “What’s your view of the outlook? How’s all 
 this going to wind up? Will the outlaw ever be 
 driven out?” asked Duane. 
 
 “Never. There will always be outlaws along the 
 Rio Grande. All the armies in the world couldn’t 
 comb the wild brakes of that fifteen hundred miles 
 of river. But the sway of the outlaw, such as is 
 enjoyed by these great leaders, will sooner or later 
 be past. The criminal element flock to the South- 
 west. 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 that were organized in Cali- 
 
 228 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 fornia and are now in force in Idaho. So far it’s 
 only talk. But the time will come. And the days 
 of Cheseldine and Poggin are numbered.” 
 
 Duane went to bed that night exceedingly thought- 
 ful. 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 con- 
 nected with his name, in his power to look it and 
 act it. Duane had never dreamed of any sleuth- 
 hound tendency in his nature, but now he felt some- 
 thing like one. Above all others his mind fixed on 
 Poggin — Poggin the brute, the executor of Chesel- 
 dine’s will, but mostly upon Poggin the gunman. 
 This in itself was a warning to Duane. Pie felt ter- 
 rible forces at work within him. There was the 
 stern and indomitable resolve to make MacNelly’s 
 boast good to the governor of the state — to break 
 up Cheseldine’s gang. Yet this was not in Duane’s 
 mind before a strange grim and deadly instinct — 
 which he had to drive away for fear he would find 
 in it a passion to kill Poggin, not for the state, nor 
 for his word to MacNelly, but for himself. Had his 
 father’s blood and the hard years made Duane the 
 kind of man who instinctively wanted to meet Pog- 
 gin? He was sworn to MacNelly’s service, and he 
 fought himself to keep that, and that only, in his mind. 
 
 229 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 Duane ascertained that Fairdale was situated twc 
 days’ ride from Bradford toward the north. There 
 was a stage which made the journey twice a week. 
 
 Next morning Duane mounted his horse and 
 headed for Fairdale. tie rode leisurely, as he 
 wanted to learn all he could about the country. 
 There were few ranches. The farther he traveled 
 the better grazing he encountered, and, strange tc 
 note, the fewer herds of cattle. 
 
 It was just sunset when he made out a cluster 
 of adobe houses that marked the half-way point 
 between Bradford and Fairdale. Here, Duane had 
 learned, was stationed a comfortable inn for way- 
 farers. 
 
 When he drew up before the inn the landlord and 
 his family and a number of loungers greeted hirr 
 
 laconic'aliy. 
 
 “Beat the stage in, hey?” remarked one. 
 
 “There she comes now,” said another. “Joel 
 shore is drivin’ to-night.” 
 
 Far down the road Duane saw a cloud of dust 
 and horses and a lumbering coach. When he had 
 looked after the needs of his horse he returned to 
 the group before the inn. They awaited the stage 
 with that interest common to isolated people. Pres- 
 ently it rolled up, a large mud-bespattered and dusty 
 vehicle, littered with baggage on top and tied or 
 behind. A number of passengers alighted, three of 
 whom excited Duane’s interest. One was a tall, 
 dark, striking-looking man, and the other two were 
 ladies, wearing long gray ulsters and veils. Duane 
 beard the proprietor of the inn address the man as 
 Colonel Longstreth, and as the party entered the 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 inn Duane’s quick ears caught a few words which 
 acquainted him with the fact that Longstreth was 
 the Mayor of Fairdale. 
 
 Duane passed inside himself to learn that supper _ 
 would soon be ready. At table he found himself 
 opposite the three who had attracted his attention. 
 
 “Ruth, I envy the lucky cowboys,” Longstreth 
 was saying. 
 
 Ruth was a curly-headed girl with gray or hazel 
 eyes. 
 
 “I’m crazy to ride bronchos,” she said. 
 
 Duane gathered she was on a visit to western 
 Texas. The other girl’s deep voice, sweet like a 
 bell, made Duane regard her closer. She had beauty 
 as he had never seen it in another woman. She was 
 slender, but the development of her figure gave 
 Duane the impression she was twenty years old or 
 more. She had the most exquisite hands Duane had 
 ever seen. She did not resemble the Colonel, who 
 was evidently her father. She looked tired, quiet, 
 even melancholy. A finely chiseled oval face; clear, 
 olive-tinted skin, long eyes set wide apart and black 
 as coal, beautiful to look into; a slender, straight 
 nose that had something nervous and delicate about 
 it which made Duane think of a thoroughbred; and 
 a mouth by no means small, but perfectly curved; 
 and hair like jet — all these features proclaimed her 
 beauty to Duane. Duane believed her a descendant 
 of one of the old French families of eastern Texas. 
 He was sure of it when she looked at him, drawn 
 by his rather persistent gaze. There w r ere pride, 
 fire, and passion in her eyes. Duane felt himself 
 blushing in confusion. His stare at her had been 
 
 231 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 rude, perhaps, but unconscious. How many years 
 had passed since he had seen a girl like her! There- 
 after he kept his eyes upon his plate, yet he seemed 
 to be aware that he had aroused the interest of both 
 girls. 
 
 After supper the guests assembled in a big sitting- 
 room where an open fireplace with blazing mesquite 
 sticks gave out warmth and cheery glow. Duane 
 took a seat by a table in the corner, and, finding a 
 paper, began to read. Presently when he glanced 
 up he saw two dark-faced men, strangers who had 
 not appeared before, and were peering in from a 
 doorway. When they saw Duane had observed 
 them they stepped back out of sight. 
 
 It flashed over Duane that the strangers acted 
 suspiciously. In Texas in the seventies it was al- 
 ways bad policy to let strangers go unheeded. Duane 
 pondered a moment. Then he went out to look over 
 these two men. The doorway opened into a patio, 
 and across that was a little dingy, dim-lighted bar- 
 room. Here Duane found the innkeeper dispensing 
 drinks to the two strangers. They glanced up when 
 he entered, and one of them whispered. He imagined 
 he had seen one of them before. In Texas, where 
 outdoor men were so rough, bronzed, bold, and some- 
 times grim of aspect, it was no easy task to pick out 
 the crooked ones. But Duane’s years on the border 
 had augmented a natural instinct or gift to read 
 character, or at least to sense the evil in men; and 
 he knew at once that these strangers were dishonest. 
 
 “Hev somethin’?” one of them asked, leering. 
 Both looked Duane up and down. 
 
 “No thanks, I don’t drink,” Duane replied, and 
 232 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 returned their scrutiny with interest. “How’s tricks 
 in the Big Bend?” 
 
 Both men stared. It had taken only a close 
 glance for Duane to recognize a type of ruffian most 
 frequently met along the river. These strangers 
 had that stamp, and their surprise proved he was 
 right. Here the innkeeper showed signs of uneasi- 
 ness, and seconded the surprise of his customers. 
 No more was said at the instant, and the two rather 
 hurriedly went out. 
 
 “Say, boss, do you know those fellows?” Duane 
 asked the innkeeper. 
 
 “Nope.” 
 
 “Which way did they come?” 
 
 “Now I think of it, them fellers rid in from both 
 corners to-day,” he replied, and he put both hands 
 on the bar and looked at Duane. “They nooned 
 heah, cornin’ from Bradford, they said, an’ trailed 
 in after the stage.” 
 
 When Duane returned to the sitting-room Colonel 
 Longstreth was absent, also several of the other 
 passengers. Miss Ruth sat in the chair he had 
 vacated, and across the table from her sat Miss 
 Longstreth. Duane went directly to them. 
 
 “Excuse me,” said Duane, addressing them. “I 
 want to tell you there are a couple of rough-looking 
 men here. I’ve just seen them. They mean evil. 
 Tell your father to be careful. Lock your doors — 
 bar your windows to-night.” 
 
 “Oh!” cried Ruth, very low. “Ray, do you hear?” 
 
 “Thank you; we’ll be careful,” said Miss Long- 
 streth, gracefully. The rich color had faded in her 
 cheek. “I saw those men watching you from that 
 
 233 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 door. They had such bright black eyes. Is there 
 really danger — here?” 
 
 “I think so,” was Duane’s reply. 
 
 Soft swift steps behind him preceded a harsh 
 voice: “Hands up!” 
 
 No man quicker than Duane to recognize the 
 intent in those words! His hands shot up. Miss 
 Ruth uttered a little frightened cry and sank into 
 her chair. Miss Longstreth turned white, her 
 eyes dilated. Both girls were staring at some one 
 behind Duane. 
 
 “Turn around!” ordered the harsh voice. 
 
 The big, dark stranger, the bearded one who had 
 whispered to his comrade in the bar-room and 
 asked Duane to drink, had him covered with a 
 cocked gun. He strode forward, his eyes gleaming, 
 pressed the gun against him, and with his other 
 hand dove into his inside coat pocket and tore out 
 his roll of bills. Then he reached low at Duane’s 
 hip, felt his gun, and took it. Then he slapped the 
 other hip, evidently in search of another weapon. 
 That done, he backed away, wearing an expression 
 of fiendish satisfaction that made Duane think he 
 was only a common thief, a novice at this kind of 
 game. 
 
 His comrade stood in the door with a gun lev- 
 eled at two other men, who stood there frightened, 
 
 speechless. 
 
 “Git a move on, Bid,” 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 
 
 234 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 prod the two men with his weapon and to search 
 them. The robber in the doorway called “Rustle!” 
 and disappeared. 
 
 Duane wondered where the innkeeper was, and 
 Colonel Longstreth and the other two passengers. 
 The bearded robber quickly got through with his 
 searching, and from his growls Duane gathered he 
 had not been well remunerated. Then he wheeled 
 once more. Duane had not moved a muscle, stood 
 perfectly calm with his arms high. The robber 
 strode back with his bloodshot eyes fastened upon 
 the girls. Miss Longstreth never flinched, but the 
 little girl appeared about to faint. 
 
 “Don’t yap, there!” he said, low and hard. He 
 thrust the gun close to Ruth. Then Duane knew 
 for sure that he was no knight of the road, but 
 a plain cutthroat robber. Danger always made 
 Duane exult in a kind of cold glow. But now some- 
 thing hot worked within him. He had a little gun 
 in his pocket. The robber had missed it. And he 
 began to calculate chances. 
 
 “Any money, jewelry, diamonds!” ordered the 
 ruffian, fiercely. 
 
 Miss Ruth collapsed. Then he made at Miss 
 Longstreth. She stood with her hands at her 
 breast. Evidently the robber took this position 
 to mean that she had valuables concealed there. 
 But Duane fancied she had instinctively pressed her 
 hands against a throbbing heart. 
 
 “Come out with it!” he said, harshly, reaching 
 for her. 
 
 “Don’t dare touch me!” she cried, her eyes ablaze. 
 She did not move. She had nerve, 
 
 16 235 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 made Duane thrill. Pie 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 pos- 
 sible to her. She eluded two lunges the man made 
 at her. Then his rough hand caught her waist, 
 and with one pull ripped it asunder, exposing her 
 beautiful shoulder, white as snow. 
 
 She cried out. The prospect of being robbed or 
 even killed had not shaken Miss Longstreth’s nerve 
 as had this brutal tearing off of half her waist. 
 
 The ruffian was only turned partially away from 
 Duane. For himself he could have waited no 
 longer. But for her! That gun was still held 
 dangerously upward close to her. Duane watched 
 only that. Then a bellow made him jerk his head. 
 Colonel Longstreth stood in the doorway in a mag- 
 nificent rage. He had no weapon. Strange how 
 he showed no fear! He bellowed something again. 
 
 Duane’s shifting glance caught the robber’s sud- 
 den movement. It was a kind of start. He seemed 
 stricken. Duane expected him to shoot Long- 
 streth. Instead the hand that clutched Miss Long- 
 streth’s torn waist loosened its hold. The other 
 hand with its cocked weapon slowly dropped till it 
 pointed to the floor. That was Duane’s chance. 
 
 Swift as a flash he drew his gun and fired. Thud ! 
 went his bullet, and he could not tell on the instant 
 whether it hit the robber or went into the ceiling. 
 Then the robber’s gun boomed harmlessly. He fell 
 with blood spurting over his face. Duane realized 
 he had hit him, but the small bullet had glanced. 
 
 236 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 Miss Longstreth reeled and might have fallen 
 had Duane not supported her. It was only a few 
 steps to a couch, to which he half led, half carried 
 her. Then he rushed out of the room, across the 
 patio, through the bar to the yard. Nevertheless, 
 he was cautious. In the gloom stood a saddled 
 horse, probably the one belonging to the fellow he 
 had shot. His comrade had escaped. Returning 
 to the sitting-room, Duane found a condition ap- 
 proaching pandemonium. 
 
 The innkeeper rushed in, pitchfork in hands. 
 Evidently he had been out at the barn. He was 
 now shouting to find out what had happened. Joel, 
 the stage-driver, was trying to quiet the men who 
 had been robbed. The woman, wife of one of the 
 men, had come in, and she had hysterics. The 
 girls were still and white. The robber Bill lay 
 where he had fallen, and Duane guessed he had 
 made a fair shot, after all. And, lastly, the thing 
 that struck Duane most of all was Longstreth’s 
 rage. He never saw such passion. Like a caged 
 lion Longstreth stalked and roared. There came 
 a quieter moment in which the innkeeper shrilly 
 protested : 
 
 ‘ ‘ Man, what ’re you ravin’ aboot ? Nobody’s hurt, 
 an’ thet’s lucky. I swear to God I hadn’t nothin’ 
 to do with them fellers!” 
 
 “I ought to kill you anyhow!” replied Longstreth. 
 And his voice now astounded Duane, it was so full 
 of power. 
 
 Upon examination Duane found that his bullet 
 had furrowed the robber’s temple, tom a great 
 piece out of his scalp, and, as Duane had guessed, 
 
 237 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 had glanced. He was not seriously injured, and 
 already showed signs of returning consciousness. 
 
 “Drag him out of here!” ordered Longstreth: 
 and he turned to his daughter. 
 
 Before the innkeeper reached the robber Duane 
 had secured the money and gun taken from him; 
 and presently recovered the property of the other 
 men. Joel helped the innkeeper carry the injured 
 man somewhere outside. 
 
 Miss Longstreth was sitting white but composed 
 upon the couch, where lay Miss Ruth, who evident- 
 ly had been carried there by the Colonel. Duane 
 did not chink she had wholly lost consciousness, 
 and now she lay very still, with eyes dark and 
 shadowy, her face pallid and wet. The Colonel, 
 now that he finally remembered his women-foik, 
 seemed to be gentle and kind. He talked sooth- 
 ingly to Miss Ruth, made light of the adventure, 
 said she must learn to have nerve out here where 
 things happened. 
 
 “Can I be of any service?” asked Duane, solici- 
 tously. 
 
 “Thanks; I guess there’s nothing you can do. 
 Talk to these frightened girls while I go see what’s 
 to be done with that thick-skulled robber,” he re- 
 plied, and, telling the girls that there was no more 
 danger, he went out. 
 
 Miss Longstreth sat with one hand holding her 
 torn waist in place; the other she extended to 
 Duane. He took it awkwardly, and he felt a 
 strange thrill. 
 
 “You saved my life,” she said, in grave, sweet 
 seriousness. 
 
LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 'T I-T TP 
 
 “No, no!” Duane exclaimed. “He might have 
 struck you, hurt you, but no more.” 
 
 “I saw murder in his eyes. He thought I had 
 jewels under my dress. I couldn’t bear his touch. 
 The beast! I’d have fought. Surely my life was 
 in peril.” 
 
 “Did you kill him?” asked Miss Ruth, who lay 
 listening. 
 
 “Oh no. He’s not badly hurt.” 
 
 “I’m very glad he’s alive,” said Miss Longstreth, 
 shuddering. 
 
 “My intention was bad enough,” Duane went on. 
 “It was a ticklish place for me. You see, he was 
 half drunk, and I was afraid his gun might go off. 
 Fool careless he was!” 
 
 “Yet you say you didn’t save me,” Miss Long- 
 streth returned, quickly. 
 
 “Well, let it go at that,” Duane responded. “I 
 saved you something.” 
 
 “Tell me all about it?” asked Miss Ruth, who 
 was fast recovering. 
 
 Rather embarrassed, Duane briefly told the in- 
 cident from his point of view. 
 
 “Then you stood there all the time with your 
 . hands up thinking of nothing — watching for nothing 
 except a little moment when you might draw your 
 gun?” asked Miss Ruth. 
 
 “I guess that’s about it,” he replied. 
 
 “Cousin,” said Miss Longstreth, thoughtfully, 
 “it was fortunate for us that this gentleman hap- 
 pened to be here. Papa scouts — laughs at danger. 
 He seemed to think there was no danger. Yet he 
 raved after it came,” 
 
 2*0 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “Go with us all the way to Fairdale — please?’ 3 
 asked Miss Ruth, sweetly offering her hand. “I 
 am Ruth Herbert. And this is my cousin, Ray 
 Longstreth.” 
 
 “I’m traveling that way,” replied Duane, in great 
 confusion. He did not know how to meet the 
 situation. 
 
 Colonel Longstreth returned then, and after bid 
 ding Duane a good night, which, seemed rather curt 
 by contrast to the graciousness of the girls, he led 
 them away. 
 
 Before going to bed Duane went outside to take 
 a look at the injured robber and perhaps to ask him 
 a few questions. To Duane’s surprise, he was gone, 
 and so was his horse. The innkeeper was dum- 
 founded. He said that he left the fellow on the 
 floor in the bar-room. 
 
 “Had he come to?” inquired Duane.. 
 
 “Sure. He asked for whisky.” 
 
 “Did he say anything else?” 
 
 “Not to me. I heard him talkin’ to the father 
 of them girls.” 
 
 “You mean Colonel Longstreth?” 
 
 “I reckon. Fie sure was some riled, wasn’t he!’ 
 Test as if I was to blame fer that two-bit of a hold- 
 up!” 
 
 “What did you make of the old gent’s rage?” 
 asked Duane, watching the innkeeper. He scratched 
 his head dubiously. He was sincere, and Duane 
 believed in his honesty. 
 
 “Wal, I’m doggoned if I know what to make 
 of it. But I reckon he’s either crazy or got more 
 
 nerve than most Texans.” 
 
 240 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “More nerve, maybe,” Duane replied. “Show 
 me a bed now, innkeeper.” 
 
 Once in bed in the dark, Duane composed himself 
 to think over the several events of the evening. He 
 called up the details of the holdup and carefully 
 revolved them in mind. The Colonel’s wrath, 
 under circumstances where almost any Texan would 
 have been cool, nonplussed Duane, and he put it 
 down to a choleric temperament. He pondered long 
 on the action of the robber when Longstreth’s bel- 
 low of rage burst in upon him. This ruffian, as 
 bold and mean a type as Duane had ever encoun- 
 tered, had, from some cause or other, been startled. 
 From whatever point Duane viewed the man’s 
 strange indecision he could come to only one con- 
 clusion — his start, his check, his fear had been 
 that of recognition. Duane compared this effect 
 with the suddenly acquired sense he had gotten of 
 Colonel Longstreth’s powerful personality. Why 
 had that desperate robber lowered his gun and stood 
 paralyzed at sight and sound of the Mayor of Fair- 
 dale? This was not answerable. There might have 
 been a number of reasons, all to Colonel Longstreth’s 
 credit, but Duane could not understand. Long- 
 streth had not appeared to see danger for his daugh- 
 ter, 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 experi- 
 ence 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 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 answer. Then his rage, Duane concluded, had been 
 solely at the idea of his daughter being assaulted 
 by a robber. This deduction was indeed a thought- 
 disturber, but Duane put it aside to crystallize and 
 for more careful consideration. 
 
 Next morning Duane found that the little town 
 was called Sanderson. It was larger than he had 
 at first supposed. He walked up the main street 
 and back again. Just as he arrived some horsemen 
 rode up to the inn and dismounted. And at this 
 juncture the Longstreth party came out. Duane 
 heard Colonel Longstreth utter an exclamation. 
 Then he saw him shake hands with a tall man. 
 Longstreth looked surprised and angry, and he spoke 
 with force; but Duane could not hear what it was 
 he said. The fellow laughed, yet somehow he 
 struck Duane as sullen, until suddenly he espied 
 Miss Longstreth. Then his face changed, and he 
 removed his sombrero. Duane went closer. 
 
 “Floyd, did you come with the teams?” asked 
 Longstreth, sharply. 
 
 “Not me. I rode a horse, good and hard,” was 
 the reply. 
 
 “Humph! I’ll have a word to say to you later.” 
 Then Longstreth turned to his daughter. “Ray, 
 here’s the cousin I’ve told you about. You used to 
 play with him ten years ago — Floyd Lawson. Floyd, 
 my daughter — and my niece, Ruth Herbert.” 
 
 Duane always scrutinized every one he met, and 
 now with a dangerous game to play, with a conscious- 
 ness of Longstreth’s unusual and significant per- 
 sonality, he bent a keen and searching glance upon 
 this Floyd Lawson. 
 
 242 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 He was under thirty, yet gray at his temples — 
 dark, smooth - shaven, with lines left by wildness, 
 dissipation, shadows under dark eyes, a mouth strong 
 and bitter, and a square chin — a reckless, careless, 
 handsome, sinister face strangely losing the hard- 
 ness when he smiled. The grace of a gentleman 
 clung round him, seemed like an echo in his mellow 
 voice. Duane doubted not that he, like many a 
 young man, had drifted out to the frontier, where 
 rough and wild life had wrought sternly but had not 
 quite effaced the mark of good family. 
 
 Colonel Longstreth apparently did not share the 
 pleasure of his daughter and his niece in the advent 
 of this cousin. Something hinged on this meeting. 
 Duane grew intensely curious, but, as the stage ap- 
 peared ready for the journey, he had no further op- 
 portunity to gratify it. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 D UANE followed the stage through the town, 
 out into the open, on to a wide, hard-packed 
 road showing years of travel. It headed northwest. 
 To the left rose a range of low, bleak mountains he 
 had noted yesterday, and to the right sloped the 
 mesquite-patched sweep of ridge and flat. The 
 driver pushed his team to a fast trot, which gait 
 surely covered ground rapidly. 
 
 The stage made three stops in the forenoon, one 
 at a place where the horses could be watered, the 
 second at a chuck-wagon belonging to cowboys who 
 were riding after stock, and the third at a small 
 cluster of adobe and stone houses constituting a 
 hamlet the driver called Longstreth, named after 
 the Colonel. From that point on to Fairdale there 
 were only a few ranches, each one controlling great 
 acreage. 
 
 Early in the afternoon from a ridge-top Duane 
 sighted Fairdale, a green patch in the mass of gray. 
 For the barrens of Texas it was indeed a fair sight. 
 But he was more concerned with its remoteness from 
 civilization than its beauty. At that time, in the 
 early seventies, when the vast western third of 
 Texas was a wilderness, the pioneer had done won- 
 ders to settle there and establish places like Fair- 
 dale. 
 
 244 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 It needed only a glance for Duane to pick out 
 Colonel Longstreth’s ranch. The house was sit- 
 uated on the only elevation around Fairdale, and 
 it was not high, nor more than a few minutes’ walk 
 from the edge of the town. It was a low, flat- 
 roofed structure made of red adobe bricks, and cov- 
 ered what appeared to be fully an acre of ground. 
 All was green about it, except where the fenced 
 corrals and numerous barns or sheds showed gray 
 and red. 
 
 Duane soon reached the shady outskirts of Fair- 
 dale, 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 buckbcard 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 after- 
 noon was waning he halted at a little inn. A boy 
 took charge of his horse. Duane questioned the lad 
 about Fairdale and gradually drew to the subject 
 most in mind. 
 
 “Colonel Longstreth has a big outfit, eh?” 
 
 “Reckon he has,” replied the lad. “Doan know 
 how many cowboys. They’re always cornin’ and 
 goin’. I ain’t acquainted with half of them.” 
 
 “Much movement of stock these days?” 
 
 “Stock’s always movin’,” he replied, with a queer 
 look. 
 
 24s 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “Rustlers?” 
 
 But he did not follow up that look with the af- 
 firmative Duane expected. 
 
 “Lively place, I hear — Fairdale is?” 
 
 “Ain’t so lively as Sanderson, but it’s bigger.” 
 “Yes, I heard it was. Fellow down there was 
 talking about two cowboys who were arrested.” 
 “Sure. I heered all about that. Joe Bean an’ 
 Brick Higgins — they belong heah, but they ain’t 
 heah much. Longstreth’s boys.” 
 
 Duane did not want to appear over-inquisitive, 
 so he turned the talk into other channels. 
 
 After getting supper Duane strolled up and down 
 the main street. When darkness set in he went into 
 a hotel, bought cigars, sat around, and watched. 
 Then he passed out and went into the next place. 
 This was of rough crude exterior, but the inside was 
 comparatively pretentious and ablaze with lights. 
 It was full of men coming and going — a dusty- 
 booted crowd that smelled of horses and smoke. 
 Duane sat down for a while, with wide eyes and open 
 ears. Then he hunted up the bar, where most of 
 the guests had been or were going. He found a 
 great square room lighted by six huge lamps, a bar 
 at one side, and all the floor -space taken up by 
 tables and chairs. This was the only gambling- 
 place of any size in southern Texas in which he had 
 noted the absence of Mexicans. There was some 
 card-playing going on at this moment. Duane 
 stayed in there for a while, and knew that strangers 
 were too common in Fairdale to be conspicuous. 
 Then he returned to the inn where he had engaged 
 a room. 
 
 246 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 Duane sat down on the steps of the dingy little 
 restaurant. Two men were conversing inside, and 
 they had not noticed Duane. 
 
 “Laramie, what’s the stranger’s name?” asked one. 
 
 “He didn’t say,” replied the other. 
 
 “Sure was a strappin’ big man. Struck me a 
 little odd, he did. No cattleman, him. How’d you 
 size him?” 
 
 “Well, like one of them cool, easy, quiet Texans 
 who’s been lookin’ for a man for years — to kill him 
 when he found him.” 
 
 “Right you are, Laramie; and, between, you an’ 
 me, I hope he’s lookin’ for Long — ” 
 
 “’S-sh!” interrupted Laramie. “You must be 
 half drunk, to go talkin’ that way.” 
 
 Thereafter they conversed in too low a tone ? or 
 Duane to hear, and presently Laramie’s visitor left. 
 Duane went inside, and, making himself agreeable, 
 began to ask casual questions about Fairdale. Lara- 
 mie was not communicative. 
 
 Duane went to his room in a thoughtful frame of 
 mind. Had Laramie’s visitor meant he hoped some 
 one had come to kill Longstreth? Duane inferred 
 just that from the interrupted remark. There was 
 something wrong about the Mayor of Fairdale. 
 Duane felt it. And he felt also, if there was a crooked 
 and dangerous man, it was this Floyd Lawson. 
 The innkeeper Laramie would be worth cultivating. 
 And Iasi, in Duane’s thoughts that night was Miss 
 Longstreth. He could not help thinking of her — 
 how strangely the meeting with her had affected 
 him. It made him remember that long-past time 
 when girls had been a part of his life. What a sad 
 
 247 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 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 con- 
 viction, however, did not dispel her; indeed, it 
 seemed perversely to make her grow more fascinat- 
 ing. Duane grew conscious of a strange, unaccount- 
 able hunger, a something that was like a pang in 
 his breast. 
 
 Next day he lounged about the inn. He did not 
 make any overtures to the taciturn proprietor. 
 Duane had no need of hurry now. Pie contented 
 himself with watching and listening. And at the 
 close of that day he decided Fairdale was what 
 MacNelly had claimed it to be, and that he was 
 on the track of an unusual adventure. The following 
 day he spent in much the same way, though on one 
 occasion he told Laramie he was looking for a man. 
 The innkeeper grew a little less furtive and reticent 
 after that. He would answer casual queries, and 
 it did not take Duane long to learn that Laramie 
 had seen better days — that he was now broken, bit- 
 ter, and hard. Some one had wronged him. 
 
 Several days passed. Duane did not succeed in 
 getting any closer to Laramie, but he found the idlers 
 on the corners and in front of the stores unsuspicious 
 and willing to talk. It did not take him long to find 
 out that Fairdale stood parallel with Huntsville for 
 gambling, drinking, and fighting. The street was 
 always lined with dusty, saddled horses, the town 
 full of strangers. Money appeared more abundant 
 than in any place Duane had ever visited; and it 
 was spent with the abandon that spoke forcibly of 
 easy and crooked acquirement. Duane decided that 
 
 248 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 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 in- 
 tuitively, before a chance remark gave him proof, 
 that this court was a sham, a farce. And he won- 
 dered if it were not a blind. This wonder of his was 
 equivalent to suspicion of Colonel Longstreth, and 
 Duane reproached himself. Then he realized that 
 the reproach was because of the daughter. Inquiry 
 had brought him the fact that Ray Longstreth had 
 just come to live with her father. Longstreth had 
 originally been a planter in Louisiana, where his 
 family had remained after his advent in the West. 
 He was a rich rancher; he owned half of Fairdale; 
 he was a cattle-buyer on a large scale. Floyd Law- 
 son was his lieutenant and associate in deals. 
 
 On the afternoon of the fifth day of Duane’s stay 
 in Fairdale he returned to the inn from his usual 
 stroll, and upon entering was amazed to have a 
 rough-looking young fellow rush by him out of the 
 door. Inside Laramie was lying on the floor, with 
 a bloody bruise on his face. He did not appear to 
 be dangerously hurt. 
 
 “Bo Snecker! He hit me and went after the 
 cash-drawer,” said Laramie, laboring to his feet. 
 
 “Are you hurt much?” queried Duane. 
 
 “I guess not. But Bo needn’t to have soaked me. 
 I’ve been robbed before without that.” 
 
 “Well, I’ll take a look after Bo,” replied Duane. 
 
 He went out and glanced down the street toward 
 the center of the town. He did not see any one he 
 
 249 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 could take for the inkeeper’s assailant. Then he 
 looked up the street, and he saw the young fellow 
 about a block away, hurrying along and gazing 
 back. 
 
 Duane yelled for him to stop and started to go 
 after him. Snecker broke into a run. Then Duane 
 set out to overhaul him. There were two motives 
 in Duane’s action — one of anger, and the other a 
 desire to make a friend of this man Laramie, whom 
 Duane believed could tell him much. 
 
 Duane was light on his feet, and he had a giant 
 stride. He gained rapidly upon Snecker, who, turn- 
 ing this way and that, could not get out of sight. 
 Then he took to the open country and ran straight 
 for the green hill where Longstreth’s house stood. 
 Duane had almost caught Snecker when he reached 
 the shrubbery and trees and there eluded him. But 
 Duane kept him in sight, in the shade, on the paths, 
 and up the road into the courtyard, and he saw 
 Snecker go straight for Longstreth’s house. 
 
 Duane was not to be turned back by that, singu- 
 lar 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 en- 
 tered the first open door on that side of the court. 
 It opened into a corridor which led into a plaza. 
 It had wide, smooth stone porches, and flowers and 
 shrubbery in the center. Duane hurried through to 
 burst into the presence of Miss Longstreth and a 
 number of young people. Evidently she was giving 
 a little party. 
 
 Lawson stood leaning against one of the pillars 
 that supported the porch roof; at sight of Duane 
 
 250 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 his face changed remarkably, expressing amaze- 
 ment, consternation, then fear. 
 
 In the quick ensuing silence Miss Longs tret h 
 rose white as her dress. The young women present 
 stared in astonishment, if they were not equally 
 perturbed. There were cowboys present who sud- 
 denly grew intent and still. By these things Duane 
 gathered that his appearance must be disconcerting. 
 He was panting. He wore no hat or coat. His 
 big gun-sheath showed plainly at his hip. 
 
 Sight of Miss Longstreth had an unaccountable 
 effect upon Duane. He was plunged into confusion. 
 For the moment he saw no one but her. 
 
 “Miss Longstreth — I came — to search — your 
 house,” panted Duane. 
 
 He hardly knew what he was saying, yet the in- 
 stant he spoke he realized that that should have 
 been the last thing for him to say. He had blun- 
 dered. But he was not used to women, and this 
 dark-eyed girl male him thrill and his heart beat 
 thickly and his wits go scattering. 
 
 “Search my house!” exclaimed Miss Longstreth; 
 and red succeeded the white in her cheeks. She 
 appeared astonished and angry. “What for? Why, 
 how dare you! This is unwarrantable!” 
 
 “A man — Bo Snecker — assaulted and robbed Jim 
 Laramie,” replied Duane, hurriedly. “I chased 
 Snecker here — saw him run into the house.” 
 “Here? Oh, sir, you must be mistaken. We 
 have seen no one. In the absence of my father I’m 
 mistress here. I’ll not permit you to search.” 
 Lawson appeared to come out of his astonishment. 
 He stepped forward. 
 
 17 
 
 251 
 
THE LONE STAR, RANGER 
 
 “Ray, don’t be bothered now," he said, to his 
 cousin. “This fellow’s making a bluff. I’ll settle 
 him. See here, Mister, you clear out!” 
 
 “I want Snecker. He's here, and I’m going to 
 get him,” replied Duane, quietly. 
 
 “Bah! That’s all a bluff,” sneered Lawson, 
 “I’m on to your game. You just wanted an excuse 
 to break in here — to see my cousin again. When 
 you saw the company you invented that excuse. 
 Now, be off, or it ’ll be the worse for you.” 
 
 Duane felt his face burn, with a tide of hot blood. 
 Almost he felt that he was guilty of such motive. 
 Had he not been unable to put this Ray Longstreth 
 out of his mind? There seemed to be scorn in her 
 eyes now. And somehow that checked his em- 
 barrassment. 
 
 “Miss Longstreth, will you let me search the 
 house?” he asked. 
 
 “No.” 
 
 “Then — I 1 egret to say — I'll f <o without your 
 
 permission.” 
 
 “You’ll not dare!” she flashed. She stood erect, 
 her bosom swelling. 
 
 “Pardon me — yes, I will.” 
 
 “Who are you?” she demanded, suddenly. 
 
 “I’m a Texas Ranger,” replied Duane. 
 
 “A Texas Ranger!” she echoed. 
 
 Floyd Lawson’s dark face turned pale. 
 
 “Miss Longstreth, I don’t need warrants to search 
 houses,” said Duane. “I’m sorry to annoy you. 
 I’d prefer to have your permission. A ruffian has 
 taken refuge here — in your father’s house. He’s 
 hidden somewhere. May I look for him?” 
 
 2TJ2 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “If you are indeed a ranger.” 
 
 Duane produced his papers. Mis? Longstreth 
 haughtily refused to look at them. 
 
 “Miss Longstreth, Eve come to make Fairdale a 
 safer, cleaner, better place for women and children. 
 I don’t wonder at your resentment. But to doubt 
 me — insult me. Some day you may be sorry.” 
 Floyd Lawson made a violent motion with his hands. 
 “All stuff! Cousin, go on with your party. I’ll 
 take a couple of cowboys and go with this — this 
 Texas Ranger.” 
 
 “Thanks,” said Duane, coolly, as he eyed Lawson. 
 “Perhaps you’ll be able to find Snecker auicker than 
 I could.” 
 
 “What do you mean?” demanded Lawson, and 
 now he grew lrid. Evidently he was a man of 
 fierce quick passions. 
 
 “Don’t quarrel,” said Miss Longstreth. “Floyd, 
 you go with him. Please hurry. I’ll be nervous till 
 — the man’s found or you’re sure there’s not one.” 
 They started with several cowboys to search the 
 house. They went through the rooms searching, 
 calling out, peering into dark places. It struck 
 Duane more than forcibly that Lawson did all the 
 calling. He was hurried, too, tried to keep in the 
 lead. Duane wondered if he knew his voice would 
 be recognized by the hiding man. Be that as it 
 might, it was Duane who peered into a dark comer 
 and then, with a gun leveled, said “Come out!” 
 He came forth into the flare — a tall, slim, dark- 
 faced youth, wearing sombrero, blouse and trousers. 
 Duane collared him before any of the others could 
 move and held the gun close enough to make him 
 
 253 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 shrink. But he did not impress Duane as being 
 frightened just then; nevertheless, he had a clammy 
 face, the pallid look of a man who had just gotten 
 over a shock. He peered into Duane’s face, then into 
 that of the cowboy next to him, then into Lawson’s, 
 and if ever in Duane’s life he beheld relief it was 
 then. That was all Duane needed to know, but he 
 meant to find out more if he could. 
 
 “Who ’re you?’’ asked Duane, quietly. 
 
 “Bo Snecker,” he said. 
 
 “What ’d you hide here for?” 
 
 He appeared to grow sullen. 
 
 “Reckoned I’d be as safe in Longstreth’s as any- 
 wheres.” 
 
 “Ranger, what ’ll you do with him?” Lawson 
 queried, as if uncertain, now the capture was made. 
 
 “I’ll see to that,” replied Duane, and he pushed 
 Snecker in front of him out into the court. 
 
 Duane had suddenly conceived the idea of taking 
 Snecker before Mayor Longstreth in the court. 
 
 When Duane arrived at the hall where court was 
 held there were other men there, a dozen or more, 
 and all seemed excited; evidently, news of Duane 
 had preceded him. Longstreth sat at a table up on 
 a platform. Near him sat a thick-set grizzled man, 
 with deep eyes, and this was Hanford Owens, county 
 judge. To the right stood a tall, angular, yellow- 
 faced fellow with a drooping sandy mustache. Con- 
 spicuous 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. 
 
 254 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 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 re- 
 stored Duane gathered that he had intruded upon 
 some kind of a meeting in the hall. 
 
 “What ’d you break in here for,” demanded Long- 
 streth. 
 
 “Isn’t this the court? Aren’t you the Mayor of 
 Fairdale?” interrogated Duane. His voice was clear 
 and loud, almost piercing. 
 
 “Yes,” replied Longstreth. Like flint he seemed, 
 yet Duane felt his intense interest. 
 
 “I’ve arrested a criminal,” said Duane. 
 
 “Arrested a criminal!” ejaculated Longstreth. 
 “ You ? Who ’re you?” 
 
 “I’m a ranger,” replied Duane. 
 
 A significant silence ensued. 
 
 “I charge Snecker with assault on Laramie and 
 attempted robbery — if not murder. He’s had a 
 shady past here, as this court will know if it keeps 
 a record.” 
 
 “What’s this I hear about you, Bo? Get up and 
 speak for yourself,” said Longstreth, gruffly. 
 
 Snecker got up, not without a furtive glance at 
 Duane, and he had shuffled forward a few steps 
 toward the Mayor. He had an evil front, but not 
 the boldness even of a rustler. 
 
 “It ain’t so, Longstreth,” he began, loudly. “I 
 went in Laramie’s place fer grub. Some feller I 
 never seen before come in from the hall an’ hit 
 Laramie an’ wrastled him on the floor. I went out. 
 Then this big ranger chased me an’ fetched me here. 
 
 255 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 I didn’t do nothin’. This ranger’s hankerin’ to ar- 
 rest somebody. Thet's my hunch, Longstreth.” 
 
 Longstreth said something in an undertone to 
 Judge Owens, and that worthy nodded his great 
 bushy head. 
 
 “Bo, you’re discharged,” said Longstreth, bluntly. 
 “Now the rest of you clear out of here.” 
 
 He absolutely ignored the ranger. That was his 
 rebuff to Duane — his slap in the face to an inter- 
 fering ranger service. If Longstreth was crooked 
 he certainly had magnificent nerve. Duane almost 
 decided he was above suspicion. But his noncha- 
 lance, his air of finality, his authoritative assurance 
 — these to Duane’s keen and practised 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 Long- 
 streth gathered an impression of the man’s intense 
 curiosity. 
 
 Then the prisoner, Snecker, with a cough that 
 broke the spell of silence, shuffled a couple of steps 
 toward the door. 
 
 ‘ ‘ Hold on ! ” called Duane. The call halted Snecker, 
 as if it had been a bullet. 
 
 “Longstreth, I saw Snecker attack Laramie,” 
 said Duane, his voice still ringing. “What has the 
 court to say to that?” 
 
 “The court has this to say. West of the Pecos 
 we’ll not aid any ranger service. We don’t want 
 you out here. Fairdale doesn't need you.” 
 
 “That’s a lie, Longstreth,” retorted Duane. “I’ve 
 letters from Fairdale citizens all begging for ranger 
 service.” 
 
 256 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 Longstreth turned white. The veins corded at 
 his temples. He appeared about to burst into rage. 
 He was at a loss for quick reply. 
 
 Floyd Lawson rushed in and up to the table. The 
 blood showed black and thick in his face; his utter- 
 ance was incoherent, his uncontrollable outbreak 
 of temper seemed out of all proportion to any cause 
 he should reasonably have had for anger. Long- 
 streth shoved him back with a curse and a warning 
 glare. 
 
 “Where’s your warrant to arrest Snecker?” 
 shouted Longstreth. 
 
 “I don’t need warrants to make arrests. Long- 
 streth, you’re ignorant of the power of Texas Ran- 
 gers.” 
 
 “You’ll come none of your damned ranger stunts 
 out here. I’ll block you.” 
 
 That passionate reply of Longstreth’s was the 
 signal Duane had been waiting for. He had helped 
 on the crisis. He wanted to force Longstreth’s hand 
 and show the town his stand. 
 
 Duane backed clear of everybody. 
 
 “Men! I call on you all!” cried Duane, piercingly. 
 “I call on you to witness the arrest of a criminal pre- 
 vented by Longstreth, Mayor of Fairdale. It will 
 be recorded in the report to the Adjutant-General 
 at Austin. Longstreth, you’ll never prevent an- 
 other arrest.” 
 
 Longstreth sat white with working jaw. 
 
 “Longstreth, you’ve shown your hand,” said 
 Duane, in a voice that carried far and held those 
 who heard. “Any honest citizen of Fairdale can 
 now see what's plain — -yours is a damn poor hand! 
 
 *57 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 You’re going to hear me call a spade a spade. In 
 the two years you’ve been Mayor you’ve never ar- 
 rested one rustler. Strange, when Fairdale’s a nest 
 for rustlers! You’ve never sent a prisoner to Dei 
 Rio, let alone to Austin. You have no jail. There 
 have been nine murders during your office — in- 
 numerable street-fights and holdups. Not one ar- 
 rest! But you have ordered arrests for trivial of- 
 fenses, and have punished these out of all proportion, 
 There have been lawsuits in your court— suits over 
 water-rights, cattle deals, property lines. Strange 
 how in these lawsuits you or Lawson or other men 
 close to you were always involved! Strange how it 
 seems the law was stretched to favor your interest!” 
 
 Duane paused in his cold, ringing speech. In the 
 silence, both outside and inside the hall, could be 
 heard the deep breathing of agitated men. Long- 
 streth was indeed a study. Yet did he. betray any- 
 thing but rage at this interloper? 
 
 “Longstreth, here’s plain talk for you and Fair- 
 dale,” went on Duane. “I don’t accuse you and 
 your corut of dishonesty. I say strange! Law here 
 has been a farce. The motive behind all this laxity 
 isn’t plain to me — yet. But I call your hand!” 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 D UANE left the hall, elbowed his way through 
 the crowd, and went down the street. He was 
 certain that on the faces of some men he had seen 
 ill-concealed wonder and satisfaction. He had 
 struck some kind of a hot trail, and he meant to see 
 where it led. It was by no means unlikely that 
 Cheseldine might be at the other end. Duane con- 
 trolled a mounting eagerness. But ever and anon 
 it was shot through with a remembrance of R.ay 
 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 Ehiane’s heart, knocked to be heard, to be 
 let out. He was troubled. 
 
 Upon returning to the inn he found Laramie there, 
 apparently none the worse for his injury. 
 
 “How are you, Laramie?” he asked. 
 
 “Reckon I’m feelin’ as well as could be expected,” 
 replied Laramie. His head was circled by a band- 
 age that did not conceal the lump where he had 
 been struck. He looked pale, but was bright 
 enough. 
 
 259 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “That was a good crack Snecker gave you.’* re 
 marked Duane. 
 
 “I ain’t accusin’ Bo/' remonstrated Laramie, with 
 eyes that made Duane thoughtful. 
 
 “Well, I accuse him. I caught him — took him 
 to Longstreth’s court. But they let him go.” 
 Laramie appeared to be agitated by this intima- 
 tion of friendship. 
 
 “See here, Laramie,” went on Duane, “in some 
 parts of Texas it’s policy to be close-mouthed., 
 Policy and health-preserving! Between ourselves, 
 I want you to know I lean on your side of the fence.” 
 Laramie gave a quick start. Presently Duane 
 turned and frankly met his gaze. He had startled 
 Laramie out of his habitual set taciturnity; but even 
 as he looked the light that might have been amaze 
 and joy faded out of his face, leaving it the same 
 old mask. Still Duane had seen enough. Like a 
 bloodhound he had a scent. 
 
 “Talking about work, Laramie, who'd you say 
 Snecker worked for?” 
 
 “I didn’t say.” 
 
 “Well, say so now, can’t you? Laramie, you’re 
 powerful peevish to-day. It’s that bump on your 
 head. Who does Snecker work for?” 
 
 “When he works at all, which sure ain’t often, 
 he rides for Longstreth.” 
 
 “Humph! Seems to me that Longstreth’s the 
 whole circus round Pairdale. I was some sore the 
 other day to find I was losing good money at Long- 
 streth’s faro game. Sure if I’d won I wouldn’t have 
 been sore — ha, ha! But I was surprised to hear 
 some one say Longstreth owned the Hope So joint.” 
 
 260 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “He owns considerable property hereabouts,” re- 
 plied Laramie, constrainedly. 
 
 “Humph again! Laramie, like every other fellow 
 I meet in this town, you’re afraid to open your trap 
 about Longstreth. Get me straight, Laramie. I 
 don’t care a damn for Colonel Mayor Longstreth. 
 And for cause I’d throw a gun on him -just as quick 
 as on any rustler in Pecos.” 
 
 “Talk’s cheap,” replied Laramie, making light of 
 his bluster, but the red was deeper in his face. 
 
 “Sure. I know that,” Duane said. “And usual- 
 ly I don’t talk. Then it’s not well known that 
 Longstreth owns the Hope So?” 
 
 “Reckon it’s known in Pecos, all right. But Long- 
 streth’s name isn’t connected with the Hope So. 
 BLudy runs the place.” 
 
 k That Blandy. His faro game’s crooked, or I’m 
 a locoed bronch. Not that we don’t have lots of 
 crooked faro-dealers. A fellow can stand for them. 
 But Blandy’s mean, back-handed, never looks you 
 in the eyes. That Hope So place ought to be run 
 by a good fellow like you, Laramie.” 
 
 “Thanks,” replied he; and Duane imagined his 
 voice a little husky. “Didn’t you hear I used to- 
 run it?” 
 
 “No. Did you?” Duane said, quickly. 
 
 “I reckon. I built the place, made additions 
 twice, owned it for eleven years.” 
 
 “Well, I’ll be doggonea.” It was indeed Duane’s 
 turn to be surprised, and with the surprise came a 
 glimmering. “I’m sorry you’re not there now. 
 Did you sell out?” 
 
 “No. Just lost the place.” 
 
 261 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 Laramie was bursting for relief now — to talk, to 
 tell. Sympathy had made him soft. 
 
 “It was two years ago — two years last March,” 
 he went on. “I was in a big cattle deal with Long- 
 streth. We got the stock — an’ my share, eighteen 
 hundred head, was rustled off. I owed Longstreth. 
 He pressed me. It come to a lawsuit — an’ I — was 
 ruined.” 
 
 It hurt Duane to look at Laramie. He was white, 
 and tears rolled down his cheeks. Duane saw the 
 bitterness, the defeat, the agony of the man. He 
 had failed to meet his obligations; nevertheless, he 
 had been swindled. All that he suppressed, all that 
 would have been passion had the man’s spirit not 
 been broken, lay bare for Duane to see. He had 
 now the secret of his bitterness. But the reason, he 
 did not openly accuse Longstreth, the secret ol his 
 reticence afid fear — these Duane thought best to 
 try to learn at some later time. 
 
 “Hard luck! It certainly was tough,” Duane 
 said. “But you’re a good loser. And the wheel 
 turns! Now, Laramie, here’s what. I need your 
 advice. I’ve got a little money. But before I lose 
 it I want to invest some. Buy some stock, or buy 
 an interest in some rancher’s herd. What I want 
 you to steer me on is a good square rancher. Or 
 maybe a couple of ranchers, if there happen to be 
 two honest ones. Ha, ha! No deals with ranchers 
 who ride in the dark with rustlers! I’ve a hunch 
 Fairdale is full of them. Now, Laramie, you’ve 
 been here for years. Sure you must know a couple 
 of men above suspicion.” 
 
 “Thank God I do,” he replied, feelingly. “Frank 
 262 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 Morton an’ Si Zimmer, my friends an’ neighbors 
 all my prosperous days, an’ friends still. You can 
 gamble on Frank an’ Si. But if you want advice 
 from me — don’t invest money in stock now.” 
 “Why?” 
 
 “Because any new feller buyin’ stock these days 
 will be rustled quicker ’n he can say Jack Robinson. 
 The pioneers, the new cattlemen — these are easy 
 pickin’ for the rustlers. Lord knows all the ranch- 
 ers are easy enough pickin’. But the new fellers 
 have to learn the ropes. They don’t know any- 
 thin’ or anybody. An’ the old ranchers are wise 
 an’ sore. They’d fight if they — ” 
 
 “What?” Duane put in, as he paused. “If they 
 knew who was rustling the stock?” 
 
 “Nope.” 
 
 “If they had the nerve?” 
 
 “Not thet so much.” 
 
 “What then? What ’d make them fight?” 
 
 “A leader!” 
 
 “Howdy thar, Jim,” boomed a big voice. 
 
 A man of great bulk, with a ruddy, merry face, 
 entered the room. 
 
 “Hello, Morton,” replied Laramie. “I’d introduce 
 you to my guest here, but I don’t know his name.” 
 “Haw! Haw! Thet’s all right. Few men out 
 hyar go by their right names.” 
 
 “Say, Morton,” put in Duane, “Laramie gave 
 me a hunch you’d be a good man to tie to. Now, 
 I’ve a little money and before I lose it I’d like to 
 invest it in stock.” 
 
 Morton smiled broadly. 
 
 “I'm on the square,” Duane said, bluntly. “If 
 263 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 you fellows never size up your neighbors any better 
 than you have sized me — well, you won’t get any 
 richer.” 
 
 It was enjoyment for Duane to make his remarks 
 to these men pregnant with meaning. Morton 
 showed his pleasure, his interest, but his faith held 
 aloof. 
 
 ‘‘I’ve got some money. Will you let me in on 
 some kind of deal ? Will you start me up as a stock- 
 man with a little herd all my own?” 
 
 “Wal, stranger, to come out flat-footed, you’d be 
 foolish to buy cattle now. I don’t want to take your 
 money an’ see you lose out. Better go back across 
 the Pecos vfliere the rustlers ain’t so strong. I 
 haven’t had more’n twenty-five hundred herd of 
 stock for ten years. The rustlers let me hang on 
 to a breedin’ herd. Kind of them, ain’t it?” 
 
 ‘‘Sort of kind. All I hear is rustlers, Morton,” 
 replied Duane, with impatience. ‘‘You see, I haven’t 
 ever lived long in a rustler-run county. Who heads 
 the gang, anyway?” 
 
 Morton looked at Duane with a curiously amused 
 smile, then snapped his big jaw as if to shut in im- 
 pulsive words. 
 
 “Look here, Morton. It stands to reason, no mat- 
 ter how r strong these rustlers are, how hidden their 
 work, however involved with supposedly honest men 
 — they can't last.” 
 
 ‘ ‘ They come with the pioneers, an’ they’ll last till 
 thar’s a single steer left,” he declared. 
 
 “Well, if you take that view of circumstances I 
 just figure you as one of the rustlers!” 
 
 Morton looked as if he were about to brain Duane 
 264 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 with the butt of his whip. His anger flashed by 
 then, evidently as unworthy of him, and, some- 
 thing striking him as funny, he boomed out a laugh. 
 
 “It’s not so funny,” Duane went on. “If you’re 
 going to pretend a yellow streak, what else will I 
 think?” 
 
 “Pretend?” he repeated. 
 
 “Sure. I know men of nerve. And here they’re 
 not any different from those in other places. I say 
 if you show anything like a lack of sand it’s all 
 bluff. By nature you’ve got nerve. There are a 
 lot of men around Fairdale who ’re afraid of their 
 shadows — afraid to be out after dark — afraid to open 
 their mouths. But you’re not one. So I say if yon 
 claim these rustlers will last you’re pretending lack 
 of nerve just to help the popular idea along. For 
 they can't last. What you need out here is some new 
 blood. Savvy what I mean?” 
 
 “Wal, I reckon I do,” he replied, looking as if a 
 storm had blown over him. “Stranger, I’ll look you 
 up the next time I come to town.” 
 
 Then he went out. 
 
 Laramie had eyes like flint striking fire. 
 
 He breathed a deep breath and looked around the 
 room before his gaze fixed again on Duane. 
 
 “Wal,” he replied, speaking low. “You’ve picked 
 the kght men. Now, who in the hell are you?” 
 
 Reaching into the inside pocket of his buckskin 
 vest, Duane turned the lining out. A star-shaped 
 bright silver object flashed as he shoved it, pocket 
 and all, under Jim’s hard eyes. 
 
 “Ranger!” he whispered, cracking the table with 
 his fist. “You sure rung true to me.” 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 ‘ ‘ Laramie, do you know who’s boss of this secret 
 gang of rustlers hereabouts?” asked Duane, bluntly. 
 It was characteristic of him to come sharp to the 
 point. His voice — something deep, easy, cool about 
 him — seemed to steady Laramie. 
 
 “No,” replied Laramie. 
 
 ‘‘Does anybody know?” went on Duane. 
 
 ‘‘Wal, I reckon there’s not one honest native who 
 knows." 
 
 “But you have your suspicions?” 
 
 “We have.” 
 
 “Give me your idea about this crowd that hangs 
 round the saloons — the regulars.” 
 
 “Jest a bad lot,” replied Laramie, with the quick 
 assurance of knowledge. “Most of them have been 
 here years. Others have drifted in. Some of them 
 work, odd times. They rustle a few steers, steal, rob, 
 anythin’ for a little money to drink an’ gamble. 
 Jest a bad lot!” 
 
 “Have you any idea whether Cheseldine and his 
 gang are associated with this gang here?” 
 
 “Lord knows. I’ve always suspected them the 
 same gang. None of us ever seen Cheseldine — 
 an’ thet’s strange, when Knell, Poggin, Panhandle 
 Smith, Blossom Kane, and Fletcher, they all ride 
 here often. No, Poggin doesn’t come often. But 
 the others do. For thet matter, they’re around all 
 over west of the Pecos.” ' 
 
 “Now I’m puzzled over this,” said Duane. “Why 
 do men— apparently honest men — seem to be sc 
 close-mouthed here? Is that a fact, or only my im- 
 pression ?” 
 
 “It’s a sure fact,” replied Laramie, darkly. “Men 
 266 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 have lost cattle an’ property In Fairdale — lost them 
 honestly or otherwise, as hasn’t been proved. An’ 
 in some cases when they talked — hinted a little — 
 they was found dead. Apparently held up an’ 
 robbed. But dead. Dead men don’t talk! Thet’s 
 why we’re close-mouthed.” 
 
 Duane felt a dark, somber sternness. Rustling 
 cattle was not intolerable. Western Texas had gone 
 on prospering, growing in spite of the hordes of 
 rustlers ranging its vast stretches ; but a cold, secret, 
 murderous hold on a little struggling community 
 was something too strange, too terrible for men to 
 stand long. 
 
 The ranger was about to speak again -when the 
 clatter of hoofs interrupted him. Horses halted 
 out in front, and one rider got down. Floyd Lawson 
 entered. He called for tobacco. 
 
 If his visit surprised Laramie he did not show any 
 evidence. But Lawson showed rage as he saw the 
 ranger, and then a dark glint flitted from the eyes 
 that shifted from Duane to Laramie and back again. 
 Duane leaned easily against the counter. 
 
 “Say, that was a bad break of yours,” Lawson 
 said. “If you come fooling round the ranch again 
 there’ll be hell.” 
 
 It seemed strange that a man who had lived west 
 of the Pecos for ten years could not see in Duane 
 something which forbade that kind of talk. It cer- 
 tainly was not nerve Lawson showed; men of cour- 
 age 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 
 18 267 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 was a hot-headed Louisianian of French extraction; 
 a man, evidently, who had never been crossed in 
 anything, and who was strong, brutal, passionate, 
 which qualities in the face of a situation like this 
 made him simply a fool. 
 
 “I’m saying again, you used your ranger bluff 
 just to get near Ray Longstreth,” Lawson sneered. 
 “Mind you, if you come up there again there’ll be 
 hell.” 
 
 “You’re right. But not the kind you think,” 
 Duane retorted, his voice sharp and cold. 
 
 “Ray Longstreth wouldn’t stoop to know a dirty 
 blood-tracker like you,” said Lawson, hotly. He 
 did not seem to have a deliberate intention to rouse 
 Duane; the man was simply rancorous, jealous. 
 “I’ll call you right. You cheap bluffer! You four- 
 flush! You damned interfering, conceited ranger!” 
 
 “Lawson, I’ll not take offense, because you seem 
 to be championing your beautiful cousin,” replied 
 Duane, in slow speech. “But let me return your 
 compliment. You’re a fine Southerner! Why, 
 you’re only a cheap four -flush — damned, bull- 
 headed rustler /” 
 
 Duane hissed the last word. Then for him there 
 was the truth in Lawson’s working passion-blackened 
 face. 
 
 Lawson jerked, moved, meant to draw But how 
 slow! Duane lunged forward. His Ions arm swept 
 up. And Lawson staggered bae&wa'rts knocking 
 table and chairs, to fall hard, in a half-sitting pos- 
 ture against the wall. 
 
 “Don’t draw!” warned Duane. 
 
 ‘ ‘ Lawson, git awav from your gun !” yelled Laramte- 
 268 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 But Lawson was crazed with fury. He tugged at 
 his hip, his face corded with purple welts, malignant, 
 murderous. Duane kicked the gun out of his hand. 
 Lawson got up, raging, and rushed out. 
 
 Laramie lifted his shaking hands. 
 
 “What ’d you wing him for?” he wailed. “He 
 was drawin’ on you. Kickin’ men like him won’t 
 do out here.” 
 
 “That bull-headed fool will roar and butt himself 
 with all his gang right into our hands. He’s just 
 the man I’ve needed to meet. Besides, shooting 
 him would have been murder.” 
 
 “Murder!” exclaimed Laramie. 
 
 “Yes, for me,” replied Duane. 
 
 “That may be true — whoever you are — but if 
 Lawson’s the man you think he is he’ll begin thet 
 secret underground bizness. Why, Lawson won’t 
 sleep of nights now. He an’ Longstreth have always 
 been after me.” 
 
 “Laramie, what are your eyes for?” demanded 
 Duane. “Watch out. And now here. See your 
 friend Morton. Tell him this game grows hot. 
 Together you approach four or five men you know 
 well and can absolutely trust. I may need your 
 help.” 
 
 Then Duane went from place to place, comer 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 eve- 
 ning was warm; the doors were open; and in the twi- 
 light the only lamps that had been lit were in Long- 
 streth’s big sitting-room, at the far end of the hous 
 
 269 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 When a buckboard drove up and Longstreth and 
 Lawson alighted, Duane was well hidden in the 
 bushes, so well screened that he could get but a 
 fleeting glimpse of Longstreth as he went in. For 
 all Duane could see, he appeared to be a calm and 
 quiet man, intense beneath the surface, with an air 
 of dignity under insult. Duane’s chance to observe 
 Lawson was lost. They went into the house with- 
 out speaking and closed the door. 
 
 At the other end of the porch, close under a win- 
 dow, was an offset between step and wall, and there 
 in the shadow Duane hid. So Duane waited there 
 in the darkness with patience bom of many hours 
 of hiding. 
 
 Presently a lamp was lit; and Duane heard the 
 swish of skirts. 
 
 “Something’s happened surely, Ruth,” he heard 
 Miss Longstreth say, anxiously. “Papa just met 
 me in the hall and didn’t, speak. lie seemed pale, 
 worried.” 
 
 “Cousin Floyd looked like a thunder-cloud,” said 
 Ruth. “For once he didn’t try to kiss me. Some- 
 thing’s happened. Well, Ray, this has been a bad 
 day.” 
 
 “Oh, dear! Ruth, what can we do? These are 
 wild mem Floyd makes life miserable for me. 
 And he teases you unmer — ” 
 
 “I don’t call it teasing. Floyd wants to spoon,” 
 declared Ruth, emphatically. “He’d run after any 
 woman.” 
 
 “A fine compliment to me, Cousin Ruth,” laughed 
 Ray. 
 
 “I don’t care,” replied Ruth, stubbornly. “It’s 
 270 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 so. He’s mushy. And when he’s been drinking and 
 tries to kiss me — I hate him!” 
 
 There were steps on the hall floor. 
 
 “Hello, girls!” sounded out Lawson’s voice, minus 
 its usual gaiety. 
 
 “Floyd, what’s the matter?” asked Ray, presently. 
 “I never saw papa as he is to-night, nor you so — so 
 worried. Tell me, what has happened?” 
 
 “Well, Ray, we had a jar to-day,” replied Law- 
 son, with a blunt, expressive laugh. 
 
 “Jar?” echoed both the girls, curiously. 
 
 “We had to submit to a damnable outrage,” added 
 Lawson, passionately, w, if the sound of his voice 
 augmented his feeling. “Listen, girls; I’ll tell you 
 all about it.” Fie coughed, cleared his throat in a 
 way that betrayed he had been drinking. 
 
 Duane sunk deeper into the shadow of his covert, 
 and, stiffening his muscles for a protracted spell of 
 rigidity, prepared to listen with all acuteness and 
 intensity. Just one word from this Lawson, in- 
 advertently uttered in a moment of passion, might 
 be the word Duane needed for his clue. 
 
 “It happened at the town hall,” began Lawson, 
 rapidly. “Your father and Judge Owens and I 
 were there in consultation with three ranchers from 
 out of town. Then that damned ranger stalked in 
 dragging Snecker, the fellow who hid here in the 
 house. He had arrested Snecker for alleged assault 
 on a restaurant -keeper named Laramie. Snecker 
 being obviously innocent, he was discharged. Then 
 this ranger began shouting his insults, Law w r as a 
 farce in Fairdale. The court was a xarce. There 
 was no law. Your father’s office as mayor should 
 
 271 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 t>r impeached. He made arrests only for petty 
 offenses. He was afraid of the rustlers, highway- 
 men, murderers. He was afraid or — he just let 
 them alone. He used his office to cheat ranchers 
 and cattlemen in lawsuits. All this the ranger yelled 
 for ever}/ one to hear. A damnable outrage. Your 
 father, Ray, insulted in his own. court by a rowdy 
 ranger!” 
 
 “Oh!” cried Ray Longstreth, in mingled distress 
 and anger. 
 
 “The ranger service wants to rule western Texas,” 
 went on Lawson. “These rangers are all a low set, 
 many of them worse than .e outlaws they hunt. 
 Some of them were outlaws and gun-fighters before 
 they became rangers. This is one of the worst of 
 the lot. He’s keen, intelligent, smooth, and that 
 makes him more to be feared. For he is to be 
 feared. He wanted to kill. He would kill. If 
 your father had made the least move he would have 
 shot him. He’s a cold-nerved devil — the born gun- 
 man. My God, any instant I expected to sec your 
 father fall dead at my feet!” 
 
 “Oh, Floyd ! The unspeakable ruffian!” cried 
 Ray Longstreth, passionately. 
 
 “You see, Ray, this fellow, like all rangers, seeks 
 notoriety. He made that play with Snecker just 
 for a chance to rant against your father. He tried 
 to inflame all Pairdale against him. That about the 
 lawsuits was the worst! Damn him! He’ll make 
 us enemies.” 
 
 “What do vou care for the insinuations of such a 
 man?” said Ray Longstreth, her voice now deep 
 and rich with feeling. “After a moment’s thought 
 
 272 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 no one will be influenced by them. Do not worry, 
 Floyd. Tell papa not to worry. Surely after all 
 these years he can’t be injured in reputation by — by 
 an adventurer.” 
 
 ‘‘Yes, he can be injured,” replied Floyd, quickly. 
 “The frontier is a queer place. There are many 
 bitter men here — men who have failed at ranching. 
 And your father has been wonderfully successful. 
 The ranger has dropped poison, and it ’ll spread.” 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 S TRANGERS rode into Fairdale; and other hard- 
 looking customers, new to Duane if not to Fair- 
 dale, helped to create a charged and waiting atmos- 
 phere. The saloons did unusual business and were 
 never closed. Respectable citizens of the town were 
 awakened in the early dawn by rowdies carousing 
 in the streets. 
 
 Duane kept pretty close under cover during the 
 day. He did not entertain the opinion that the 
 first time he walked down-street he would be a target 
 for guns. Things seldom happened that way; and 
 when they did happen so, it was more accident than 
 design. But at night he was not idle. He met 
 Laramie, Morton, Zimmer, and others of like char- 
 acter; a secret club nad 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 Longscreth’s. At 
 night he was visited, or at least the house was, by 
 strange men who were swift, stealthy, mysterious — 
 all that kindly disposed friends or neighbors would 
 not have been. Duane had not been able to recog- 
 nize any of these night visitors; and he did not think 
 the time was ripe for a bold holding-up of one of 
 them. Nevertheless, he was sure such an event 
 
 374 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 would discover Lawson, or some one in that house, 
 to be in touch with crooked men. 
 
 Laramie was right. Not twenty-fours hours after 
 his last talk with Duane, in which he advised quick 
 action, he was found behind the little bar of his 
 restaurant with a bullet-hole in his breast, dead. No 
 one could be found who had heard a shot. It had 
 been deliberate murder, for upon the bar had been 
 left a piece of paper rudely scrawled with a pencil: 
 “All friends of rangers look for the same.” 
 
 This roused Duane. His first move, however, 
 was to bury Laramie. None of Laramie’s neighbors 
 evinced any interest in the dead man or the unfor- 
 tunate family he had left. Duane saw that these 
 neighbors were held in check by fear. Mrs. Laramie 
 was ill; the shock of her husband’s death was hard 
 on her; and she had been left almost destitute with 
 five children. Duane rented a small adobe house 
 on the outskirts of town and moved the family into 
 it. Then he played the part of provider and nurse 
 and friend. 
 
 After several days Duane went boldly into town 
 and showed that he meant business. It was his 
 opinion that there were men in Fairdale secretly 
 glad of a ranger’s presence. What he intended to 
 do was food for great speculation. A company of 
 militia could not have had the effect upon the wild 
 element of Fairdale that Duane’s presence had. It 
 got out that he was a gunman lightning swift on 
 the draw. It was death to face him. He had killed 
 thirty men — wildest rumor of all. It was actually 
 said of him he had the gun-skill of Buck Duane or 
 of Poggin. 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 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 con- 
 spicuous to a keen-eyed ranger. At the tables, at the 
 bars and lounging-places Duane heard the remarks: 
 “Who’s thet ranger after? What ’ll he do fust off? 
 Is he waitin’ fer somebody? 'Who’s gw'n’ to draw on 
 him fust — an’ go to hell? Jest about how soon will 
 he be found somewheres full of lead?” 
 
 When it came out somewhere that Duane was 
 openly cultivating the honest stay-at-home citizens 
 to array them in time against the other element, 
 then Fairdale showed its wolf teeth.' Several times 
 Duane was shot at in the dark and once slightly in- 
 jured. Rumor had it that Poggin, the gunman, 
 was coming to meet him. But the lawless element 
 did not rise up in a mass to slay Duane on sight. 
 It was not so much that the enemies of the law 
 awaited his next move, but just a slowness peculiar 
 to the frontier. The ranger was in their midst. He 
 was interesting, if formidable. He would have been 
 welcomed at card-tables, at the bars, to play and 
 drink with the men who knew they were under sus- 
 picion. There was a rude kind of good humor even 
 in their open hostility. 
 
 Besides, one ranger or a company of rangers could 
 not have held the undivided attention of these men 
 from their games and drinks and quarrels except by 
 some decided move. Excitement, greed, appetite 
 were rife in them. Duane marked, however, a strik- 
 ing 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 
 
 276 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 rumor of the coming of Poggin, yet he never seemed 
 to arrive. Moreover, the goings-on among the ha- 
 bitues of the resorts and the cowboys who came in 
 to drink and gamble were unusually mild in com- 
 parison 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. ' Me and her 
 children. One afternoon while he was there he saw 
 Miss Longstreth and Ruth ride up to the door. 
 They carried a basket. Evidently they had heard 
 of Mrs. Laramie’s trouble. Duane felt strangely 
 glad, but he went into an adjoining room rather 
 than meet them. 
 
 “Mrs. Laramie, I’ve come to see you,” said Miss 
 Longstreth, cheerfully. 
 
 The little room was not very light, there being 
 only one window and the doors, but Duane could 
 see plainly enough. Mrs. Laramie lay, hollow- 
 cheeked and haggard, on a bed. Once she had evi- 
 dently been a woman of some comeliness. The 
 ravages of trouble and grief were there to read in 
 hdr worn face; it had not, however, any of the 
 hard and bitter lines that had characterized her 
 husband’s. 
 
 Duane wondered, considering that Longstreth, had 
 ruined Laramie, how Mrs. Laramie v/as going to 
 regard the daughter of an enemy. 
 
 “So you’re Granger Longstreth’s girl?” queried 
 the woman, with her bright, black eyes fixed on her 
 visitor. 
 
 “Yes,” replied Miss Longstreth, simply. “This 
 is my cousin, Ruth Herbert. We’ve come to nurse 
 
 m 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 you, take care of the children, help you in any way 
 you’ll let us.” 
 
 There was a long silence. 
 
 ‘‘Well, you look a little like Longstreth,” finally 
 said Mrs. Laramie, ‘‘but you’re not at all like him. 
 You must take after your mother. Miss Longstreth, 
 I don’t know if I can — if I .ought accept anything 
 from you. Your father ruined my husband.” 
 
 ‘‘Yes, I know,” replied the girl, sadly. “That’s 
 all the more reason you should let me help you. 
 Pray don’t refuse. It will — mean so much to me.” 
 If this poor, stricken woman had any resentment 
 it speedily melted in the warmth and sweetness of 
 Miss Longstreth’s manner. Duane’s idea was that 
 the impression of Ray Longstreth’s beauty was al- 
 waj^s 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. Plard indeed would it have gone 
 with Jim Laramie’s slayer if he could have laid eyes 
 on him then. However, Miss Longstreth and Ruth, 
 after the nature of tender and practical girls, did not 
 appear to take the sad situation to heart. The 
 havoc was wrought in that household. The needs 
 now were cheerfulness, kindness, help, action — and 
 these the girls furnished with a spirit that did Duane 
 good. 
 
 “Mrs. Laramie, who dressed this baby?” pres- 
 ently asked Miss Longstreth. Duane peeped in to 
 see a dilapidated youngster on her knee. That sight, 
 
 278 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 if any other was needed, completed his full and 
 splendid estimate of Ray^ Longstreth and wrought 
 strangely upon his heart. 
 
 “The ranger,” replied Mrs. Laramie. 
 
 “The ranger!” exclaimed Miss Longstreth. 
 
 “Yes, he’s taken care of us all since — since — ” 
 Mrs. Laramie choked. 
 
 “Oh! So you’ve had no help but his,” replied 
 Miss Longstreth, hastily. ‘ No women. Too bad! 
 I’ll send some one, Mrs. Laramie, and I’ll come my- 
 self.” 
 
 “It ’ll be good of you,” went on the older woman. 
 “You see, Jim had few friends — that is, right in town. 
 And they’ve been afraid to help us — afraid they’d 
 get what poor Jim — ” 
 
 “That’s awful!” burst out Miss Longstreth, pas- 
 sionately. “A brave lot of friends! Mrs. Laramie, 
 don’t you worry any more. We’ll take care of you. 
 Here, Ruth, help me. Whatever is the matter with 
 baby’s dress?” 
 
 Manifestly Miss Longstreth had some difficulty 
 in subduing her emotion. 
 
 “Why, it’s on hind side before,” declared Ruth. 
 “I guess Mr. Ranger hasn’t dressed many babies.” 
 
 “He did the best he could,” said Mrs. Laramie. 
 “Lord only knows what would have become of us!” 
 
 “Then he is — is something more than a ranger?” 
 queried Miss Longstreth, with a little break in her 
 voice. 
 
 “He’s more than I can tell,” replied Mrs. Laramie. 
 “He buried Jim. He paid our debts. He fetched 
 us here. He bought food for us. He cooked for us 
 and fed us. He washed and dressed the baby. He 
 
 279 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 sat with me the first two nights after Jim’s death, 
 when I thought I’d die myself. He’s so kind, so 
 gentle, so patient. He has kept me up just by being 
 near. Sometimes I’d wake from a doze, an’, seeing 
 him there, I’d know how false were all these tales 
 Jim heard about him and believed at first. Why, 
 he plays with the children just — just like any good 
 man might. When he has the baby up I just can’t 
 believe he’s a bloody gunman, as they say. He’s 
 good, but he isn’t happy. He has such sad eyes. 
 He looks far off sometimes when the children climb 
 round him. They love him. His life is sad. No- 
 body need tell me — he sees the good in things. Once 
 he said somebody had to be a ranger. Well, I say, 
 ‘Thank God for a ranger like him!’” 
 
 Duane did not want to hear more, so he walked 
 into the room. 
 
 “It was thoughtful of you,” Duane said. “Wom- 
 ankind are needed here. I could do so little. Mrs. 
 Laramie, you look better already. I’m glad. And 
 here’s baby, all clean and white. Baby, what a 
 time I had trying to puzzle out the way your clothes 
 went on! Well, Mrs. Laramie, didn’t I tell you — 
 friends would come? So will the brighter side.” 
 
 “Yes, I’ve more faith than I had,” replied Mrs. 
 Laramie. ‘ ‘ Granger Longstreth’s daughter has come 
 to me. There for a while after Jim’s death I thought 
 I’d sink. We have nothing. How could I ever take 
 care of my little ones? But I’m gaining courage 
 to—” 
 
 “Mrs. Laramie, do not distress yourself any more,” 
 said Miss Longstreth. ‘ ' I shall see you are well cared 
 for. I promise you.” 
 
 280 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “Miss Longstreth, that's fine!” exclaimed Duane. 
 “It’s what I’d have — expected of you.” 
 
 It must have been sweet praise to her, for the 
 whiteness of her face burned out in a beautiful blush. 
 
 “And it’s good of you, too, Miss Herbert, to 
 come,” added Duane. “Let me thank you both. 
 I’m glad I have you girls as allies in part of my 
 lonely task here. More than glad for the sake of 
 this good woman and the little ones. But both of 
 you be careful about coming here alone. There’s 
 risk. And now I’ll be going. Good-by, Mrs. Lara- 
 mie. I’ll drop in again to-night. Good-by.” 
 
 “Mr. Ranger, wait!” called Miss Longstreth, as 
 he went out. She was white and wonderful. She 
 stepped out of the door close to him. 
 
 “I have wronged you!” she said, impulsively. 
 “Miss Longstreth! How can you say that?” he 
 returned. 
 
 “I believed what my father and Floyd Lawson 
 said about you. Now I see — I wronged you.” 
 “You make me very glad. But, Miss Longstreth, 
 please don’t speak of wronging me. I have been 
 a — a gunman, I am a ranger — and much said of me 
 is true. My duty is hard on others — sometimes on 
 those who are innocent, alas! But God knows that 
 duty is hard, too, on me.” 
 
 “I did wrong you. If you entered my home again 
 I would think it an honor. I — ” 
 
 “Please — please don’t, Miss Longstreth,” inter- 
 rupted Duane. 
 
 “But, sir, my conscience flays me,” she went on. 
 There was no other sound like her voice. “Will you 
 take my hand? Will you forgive me?” 
 
 281 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 She gave it royally, while the other was there 
 pressing at her breast. Duane took the proffered 
 hand. He did not know what else to do. 
 
 Then it seemed to dawn upon him that there was 
 more behind this white, sweet, noble intensity of 
 her than just the making amends for a fancied or 
 real wrong. Duane thought the man did not live 
 on earth who could have resisted her then. 
 
 “I honor you for your goodness to this unfortu- 
 nate woman,” she said, and now her speech came 
 swiftly. “When she was all alone and helpless you 
 were her friend. It was the deed of a man. But Mrs. 
 Laramie isn’t the only unfortunate woman in the 
 world. I, too, am unfortunate. Ah, how I may 
 soon need a friend! Will you be my friend? I’m so 
 alone. I’m terribly worried. I fear — I fear — Oh, 
 surely I’ll need a friend soon — soon. Oh, I’m afraid 
 of what 3^ou’ll find out sooner or later. I want to help 
 you. Let us save life if not honor. Must I stand 
 alone — all alone? Will you — will you be — ” Her 
 voice failed. 
 
 It seemed to Duane that she must have discovered 
 what he had begun to suspect — that her father and 
 Lawson were not the honest ranchers they pretend- 
 ed 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 situ- 
 ation. 
 
 “I must be true to my duty,” he said, hoarsely. 
 
 “If you knew me you’d know 7 ' I could never ask 
 you to be false to it.” 
 
 282 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “Well, then — I’ll do anything for you.” 
 
 “Oh, thank you! Tm ashamed that I believed 
 my cousin Floyd! He lied — he lied. I’m all in the 
 dark, strangely distressed. My father wants me 
 to go back home. Floyd is trying to keep me here. 
 They’ve quarreled. Oh, I know something dread- 
 ful will happen. I know I’ll need you if — if — 
 Will you help mei” 
 
 “Yes,” replied "Duane, and his look brought the 
 
 blood to her face. 
 
 19 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 AFTER supper Duane stole out for his usual 
 A evening’s spying. The night was dark, without 
 starlight, and a stiff wind rustled the leaves. Duane 
 bent his steps toward Longstreth’s ranch-house. He 
 had so much to think about that he never knew 
 where the time went. This night when he reached 
 the edge of the shrubbery he heard Lawson’s well- 
 known footsteps and saw Longstreth’s door open, 
 flashing a broad bar of light in the darkness. Law- 
 son crossed the threshold, the door closed, and all 
 was dark again outside. Not a ray’ of light escaped 
 from the window. 
 
 Little doubt there was that his talk with Long- 
 streth would be interesting to Duane. He tiptoed 
 to the door and listened, but could hear only a mur- 
 mur of voices. Besides, that position was too risky. 
 He went round the comer of the house. 
 
 This side of the big adobe house was of much 
 older construction than the back and larger part. 
 There was a narrow passage between the houses, 
 leading from the outside through to the patio. 
 
 This passage now afforded Duane an opportunity, 
 and he decided to avail himself of it in spite of the 
 very great danger. Crawling on very stealthily, he 
 got under the shrubbery to the entrance of the pas- 
 sage. In the blackness a faint streak of light showed 
 
 284 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 the location of a crack in the wall. He had to slip 
 in sidewise. It was a tight squeeze, but he entered 
 without the slightest noise. As he progressed the 
 passage grew a very little wider in that direction, 
 and that fact gave rise to the thought that in case 
 of a necessary and hurried exit he would do best 
 by working toward the patio. It seemed a good 
 deal of time was consumed in reaching a vantage- 
 point. When he did get there the crack he had 
 marked was a foot over his head. There was nothing 
 to do but find toe-holes in the crumbling walls, and 
 by bracing knees on one side, back against the other, 
 hold himself up. Once with his eye there he did not 
 care what risk he ran. Longstreth appeared dis- 
 turbed; he sat stroking his mustache ; his brow was 
 clouded. Lawson’s face seemed darker, more sul- 
 _*en, yet lighted by some indomitable resolve. 
 
 “We’ll settle both deals to-night,” Lawson was 
 saying. “That’s what I came for.” 
 
 “But suppose I don’t choose to talk here?” pro- 
 tested Longstreth, impatiently. “I never before 
 made my house a place to — ” 
 
 “We’ve waited long enough. This place ’s as good 
 as any. You’ve lost your nerve since that ranger 
 hit the town. First now, will you give Ray to me?” 
 “Floyd, you talk like a spoiled boy. Give Ray 
 to you! Why, she’s a woman, and I’rn finding out 
 that she’s got a mind of her own. I told you I was 
 willing for her to marry you. I tried to persuade 
 her But Ray hasn’t any use for you now. She 
 liked you at first. But now she doesn’t. So what 
 can I do?” 
 
 “You can make her marry me,” replied Lawson. 
 
 381; 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “Make that girl dc what she doesn’t want to? 
 It couldn’t be done evt:i if I tried. And I don’t 
 believe I’ll try. I haven't the highest opinion of 
 you as a prospective son-in-law, Floyd. But if Ray 
 loved you I would consent. We'd all go away to- 
 gether before this damned miserab'e business is out. 
 Tfien she’d never know. And maybe 3/ou might 
 be more like you used to be be ore : ie West ruined 
 you. But as matters stand, ou tight your own 
 game with her. And I’ll tell you now you’ll lose.” 
 “What ’d you want to let her come out here for?” 
 demanded Lawson, hotly. “It was a dead mistake. 
 I’ve lost my head over her. I’ll have her or die 
 Don’t you think if she was my wife I’d soon pull 
 myself together? Since she came we’ve none of us 
 been right. And the gang has put up a holler. No, 
 Longstreth, we’ve got to settle things to-night.” 
 “Well, we can settle what Ray’s concerned in, 
 right now,” replied Longstreth, rising. “Come on; 
 well ask her. See where you stand.” 
 
 They went out, leaving the door open. Duane 
 dropped down to rest himself and to wait. He 
 would have liked to hear Miss Longstreth’s an- 
 swer. But he could guess what' it would be. Law- 
 son 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 
 he”|rd heavy steps. Lawson came ih alone. He was 
 leaden-faced, humiliated. Then something abject 
 in him gave place to rage. He strode the room ; he 
 
 286 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 cursed. Then Longstreth returned, now apprecia- 
 bly calmer. Duane could not but decide that he 
 felt relief at the evident rejection of Lawson’s pro- 
 posal. 
 
 “Don’t fuss about it, Floyd,” he said. “You see 
 I can’t help it. We’re pretty wild out here, but I 
 can’t rope my daughter and give her to you as I 
 would an unruly steer.” 
 
 “Longstreth, I can make her marry me,” de- 
 clared Lawson, thickly. 
 
 “How?” 
 
 “You know the hold I got on you — the deal that 
 made you boss of this rustler gang?” 
 
 “It isn’t likely I’d forget,” replied Longstreth, 
 grimly. 
 
 “I can go to Ray, tell her that, make her be- 
 lieve I’d tell it broadcast — tell this ranger — unless 
 she’d marry me.” 
 
 Lawson spoke breathlessly, with haggard face 
 and shadowed eyes. He had no shame. He was 
 simply in the grip of passion. 
 
 Longstreth gazed with dark, controlled fury at 
 this relative. In that look Duane saw a strong, 
 unscrupulous man fallen into evil ways, but still a 
 man. It betrayed Lawson to be the wild and pas- 
 sionate weakling. Duane seemed to see also how 
 during all the years of association this strong man 
 had upheld the weak one. But that time had gone 
 for ever, both in intent on Longstreth’s part and in 
 possibility. Lawson, like the great majority of evil 
 and unrestrained men on the border, had reached a 
 point where influence was futile. Reason had de- 
 generated. He saw only himself. 
 
 287 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “But, Floyd, Ray’s the one person on earth who 
 must never know I’m a rustler, a thief, a red-handed 
 ruler of the worst gang on the border,” replied Long- 
 streth, impressively. 
 
 Floyd bowed his head at that, as if the signifi- 
 cance had just occurred to him. But he was not 
 long at a loss. 
 
 “She’s going to find it out sooner or later. I tell 
 you she knows now there’s something wrong out 
 here. She’s got eyes. Mark what I say.” 
 
 “Ray has changed, I know. But she hasn’t any 
 idea yet that her daddy’s a boss rustler. Ray’s 
 concerned about what she calls my duty as mayor. 
 Also I think she’s not satisfied with my explanations 
 in regard to certain property.” 
 
 Lawson halted in his restless walk and leaned 
 against the stone mantelpiece. He had his hands in 
 his pockets. He squared himself as if this was his 
 last stand. He looked desperate, but on the moment 
 showed an absence of his usual nervous excitement. 
 
 “Longstreth, that may well be true,” he said. 
 “No doubt all you say is true. But it doesn’t help 
 me. I want the girl. If I don’t get her — I reckon 
 we’ll all go to hell!” 
 
 He might have meant anything, probably meant 
 the worst. He certainly had something more in 
 mind. Longstreth gave a slight start, barely per- 
 ceptible, 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 con- 
 viction was that Longstreth right then and there 
 
 288 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 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 im- 
 probably the advent of his daughter had put Long- 
 streth in conflict with himself. 
 
 Suddenly he threw off a somber cast of counte- 
 nance, and he began to talk. He talked swiftly, per- 
 suasively, 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 him- 
 self. 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, up- 
 held him, protected him. The coming of Ray Long- 
 streth had been the entering-wedge of dissension. 
 
 “You’re too impatient,” concluded Longstreth. 
 “You’ll ruin any chance of happiness if you rush 
 Ray. She might be won. If you told her who I 
 am she’d hate you for ever. She might marry you 
 to save me, but she’d hate you. That isn’t the 
 way. Wait. Play for time. Be different with her. 
 Cut out your drinking. She despises that. Let’s plan 
 to sell out here — stock, ranch, property — and leave 
 the country. Then you’d have a show with her.” 
 “I told you we’ve got to stick,” growled Lawson. 
 “The gang won't stand for our going. It can’t be 
 done unless you want to sacrifice everything.” 
 “You mean double-cross the men ? Go without their 
 knowing ? Leave them here to face whatever comes ?” 
 “I mean just that.” 
 
 289 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “I’m bad enough, but not that bad,” returned 
 Longstreth. “If I can’t get the gang to let me off, 
 Til stay and face the music. All the same, Lawson, 
 did it ever strike you that most of the deals the last 
 few years have been yours f” 
 
 “Yes. If I hadn’t rung them in there wouldn’t 
 have been any. You’ve had cold feet, and especial- 
 ly since this ranger has been here.'’ 
 
 “Well, call it cold feet if, you like. But I call it 
 sense. We reached our limit long ago. We began 
 by rustling a few cattle — at a time when rustling was 
 laughed at. But as our greed grew so did our bold- 
 ness. Then came the gang, the regular trips, the 
 one thing and another till, before we knew it — before 
 I knew it — we had shady deals, holdups, and murders 
 on our record. Then we had to go on. Too late to 
 turn back!” 
 
 “I reckon we’ve all said that. None of the gang 
 wants to quit. They all think, and I think, we can’t 
 be touched. We may be blamed, but nothing can 
 be proved. We’re too strong.” 
 
 “There’s where you’re dead wrong,” rejoined 
 Longstreth, emphatically. “I imagined that once, 
 not long ago. I was bull-headed. Who would ever 
 connect Granger Longstreth with a rustler gang? 
 I’ve changed my mind. I’ve begun to think. I’ve 
 reasoned out things. We’re crooked, and we can’t 
 last. It’s the nature of life, even here, for conditions 
 to grow better. The wise deal for us would be to 
 divide equally and leave the country, all of us.” 
 “But you and I have all the stock — all the gain,” 
 protested Lawson. 
 
 "I’ll split mine.” 
 
 290 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “I won’t — that settles that,” added Lawson, in* 
 stantly. 
 
 Longstreth spread wide his hands as if it was use- 
 less to try to convince this man. Talking had not 
 increased his calmness, and he now showed more than 
 impatience. A dull glint gleamed deep in his eyes. 
 
 ‘‘Your stock and property will last a long time — 
 do you lots of good when this ranger — ” 
 
 “Bah!” hoarsely croaked Lawson. The ranger’s 
 name was a match applied to powder. “Haven’t I 
 told you he’d be dead soon — any time-— same as , 
 Laramie is?” 
 
 “Yes, you mentioned the — the supposition,” re- 
 plied Longstreth, sarcastically. “I inquired, too, just 
 how that very desired event was to be brought about.” 
 
 “The gang will lay Him out.” 
 
 “Bah!” retorted Longstreth, in turn. He laughed 
 contemptuously. 
 
 “Floyd, dcn’t be a fool. You’ve been on the 
 border for ten years. You’ve packed a gun and 
 you’ve used it. You’ve been with rustlers when 
 they killed their men. You’ve been present at many 
 fights. But you never in all that time saw a man 
 like this ranger. You haven’t got sense enough to 
 see him right if you had a chance. Neither have 
 any of you. The only way to get rid of him is for 
 the gang to draw on him, all at once. Then he’s 
 going to drop some of them.” 
 
 Longstreth, you say that like a man who wouldn’t 
 care much if he did drop some of them,” declared 
 Lawson; and now he was sarcastic. 
 
 “To tell you the truth, I wouldn’t,” returned the 
 other, bluntly. “I’m pretty sick of this mess.” 
 
 291 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 Lawson cursed in amazement. His emotions 
 were all out of proportion to his intelligence. He 
 was not at all quick-witted. Duane had never seen 
 a vainer or more arrogant man. 
 
 “Longstreth, I don’t like your talk,” he said. 
 
 “If you don’t like the way I talk you know what 
 you can do,” replied Longstreth, quickly. He stood 
 up then, cool and quiet, with flash of eyes and set 
 of lips that told Duane he was dangerous. 
 
 “Well, after all, that’s neither here nor there,” 
 went on Lawson, unconsciously cowed by the other. 
 “The thing is, do I - et the girl?” 
 
 “Not by any means except her consent.” 
 
 “You’ll not make her marry me?” 
 
 “No. No,” replied Longstreth, his voice still 
 cold, low-pitched. 
 
 “All right. Then I’ll make her.” 
 
 Evidently Longstreth understood the man before 
 him so well that he wasted no more words. Duane 
 knew what Lawson never dreamed of, and that was 
 that Longstreth had a gun somewhere within reach 
 aftd meant to use it. Then heavy footsteps sounded 
 outside tramping upon the porch. Duane might 
 Have been mistaken, but he believed those footsteps 
 saved Lawson’s life. 
 
 “There they are,” said Lawson, and he opened the 
 door. 
 
 Five masked men entered. They all wore coats 
 hiding any weapons. A big man with burly shoul- 
 ders shook hands with Longstreth, and the others 
 stood back. 
 
 The atmosphere of that room had changed. Law- 
 son might have been a nonentity for all he counted. 
 
 292 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 Longstreth was another man — a stranger to Dugne. 
 If he had entertained a hope of freeing himself f?om 
 this band, of getting away to a safer country, he 
 abandoned it at the very sight of these men. There 
 was power here, and he was bound. 
 
 The big man spoke in low, hoarse whispers, and 
 at this all the others gathered around him close to 
 the table. There were evidently some signs of mem- 
 bership not plain to Duane. Then all the heads 
 were bent over the table. Low voices spoke, quer- 
 ied, answered, argued. By straining his ears Duane 
 caught a word here and there. They were planning, 
 and they were brief. Duane gathered they were to 
 have a rendezvous at or near Ord. 
 
 Then the big man, who evidently was the leader 
 of the present convention, got up to depart. He 
 went as swiftly as he had come, and was followed 
 by his comrades. Longstreth prepared for a quiet 
 smoke. Lawson seemed uncommunicative and un- 
 sociable. He smoked fiercely and drank continual- 
 ly. All at once he straightened up as if listening. 
 
 “What’s that?” he called, suddenly. 
 
 Duane’s strained ears were pervaded by a slight 
 rustling sound. 
 
 “Must be a rat,” replied Longstreth. 
 
 The rustle became a rattle. 
 
 “Sounds like a rattlesnake to me,” said Lawson. 
 
 Longstreth got up from the table and peered 
 round the room. 
 
 Just at that instant Duane felt an almost inap- 
 preciable movement of the adobe wall which sup- 
 ported him. He could scarcely credit his senses. 
 But the rattle inside Longstreth’s room was mingling 
 
 293 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 with, little dull thuds of falling dirt. The adobe wall, 
 merely dried mud, was crumbling. Duane distinct- 
 ly felt a tremor pass through it. Then the blood 
 gushed back to his heart. 
 
 "What in the hell!” exclaimed Longstreth. 
 
 "1 smell dust,” said Lawson, sharply. 
 
 That was the signaller Duane to drop down from 
 his perch, yet despite his care he made a noise. 
 
 "Did you hear a step?” queried Longstreth. 
 
 No one answered. But a heavy piece of the adobe 
 wall fell with a thud. Duane heard it crack, felt it 
 shake, 
 
 "There’s somebody between the walls!” thundered 
 Longstreth. 
 
 Then a section of the wall fell inward with a 
 crash. Duane began to squeeze his body through 
 the narrow passage toward the patio. 
 
 "Hear him!” yelled Lawson. "This side!” 
 
 "No, he’s going that way,” yelled Longstreth. 
 
 The tramp of heavy bools lent Duane the strength 
 of ^desperation. He was not shirking a fight, but to 
 be cornered like a trapped coyote was another matte . 
 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 
 dfeep gasp of breath revived him and he was up, gun 
 ihThand, running for the outlet into the court. 
 Thumping footsteps turned him back. While there 
 was., a chance to get away he did not want tc fight. 
 He thought he heardTsome one running into the patio 
 from the other end. He stole along, and coming to 
 a ddor, without any idea of where it might lead, he 
 softly pushed it open a little way and slipped in. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 A LOW cry greeted Duane. The room was light. 
 He saw Ray Longstreth sitting on her bed in 
 her dressing-gown. With a warning gesture to her 
 to be silent he turned to close the door. It.W»£»a 
 heavy door without bolt or bar, and when Duane- 
 had shut it he felt safe only for the moment. Then 
 he gazed around the room. There was one window 
 with blind closely drawn. He listened and seemed 
 to hear footsteps retreating, dying away. 
 
 Then Duane turned to Miss Longstreth. She had 
 slipped off the bed, half to her knees, and was holding 
 out trembling hands. She was as white as the pillow 
 on her bed. She was terribly frightened. Again with 
 warning hand commanding silence, Duane stepped 
 softly forward, meaning to reassure her. 
 
 “Oh!” she whispered, wildly; and Duane thought 
 she was going to faint. When he got close and looked 
 into her eyes he understood the strange, dark ex- 
 pression in them. She was "terrified because she be- 
 lieved he meant to kill her, or do worse, probably 
 worse. Duane realized he must have looked pretty 
 hard and fierce bursting into her room with that bjg 
 gun in hand. 
 
 The way she searched Duane’s face with doubtful, 
 fearful eyes hurt him. 
 
 “Listen. I didn’t know this was your room. I 
 *95 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 came here to get away — to save my life. I was pur- 
 sued. I was spying on — on your father and his men. 
 They heard me, but did not see me. They don’t 
 know who was listening. They’re after me now.” 
 
 Her eyes changed from blank gulfs to dilating, 
 shadowing, quickening windows of thought. 
 
 Then she stood up and faced Duane with the fire 
 and intelligence of a woman in her eyes. 
 
 “Tell me now. You were spying on my father?” 
 
 Briefly Duane told her what had happened before 
 he entered her room, not omitting- a terse word as 
 to the character of the men he had watched. 
 
 “My God! So it’s that? I knew something was 
 terribly wrong here — with him — with the place — 
 the people. And right oft I hated Floyd Lawson. 
 Oh, it ’ll kill me if — if — It’s so much worse than I 
 dreamed. What shall I do?” 
 
 The sound of soft steps somewhere near distracted 
 Duane’s attention, reminded him of her peril, and 
 now, what counted more with him, made clear the 
 .probability of being discovered in her room. 
 
 “I’ll have to get out of here,” whispered Duane. 
 
 “Wait,” she replied. “Didn’t you say they were 
 hunting for you?” 
 
 “They sure are,” he returned, grimly. 
 
 “Oh, then you mustn’t go. They might shoot you 
 before you got away. Stay. If we hear them you 
 can hide. I’ll turn out the light. I’ll meet them at 
 the door. You can trust me. Wait till all quiets 
 down, if we have to wait till morning. Then you 
 can slip out.” 
 
 “I oughtn’t to stay. I don’t want to — I won’t,” 
 Duane replied, perplexed and stubborn. 
 
 296 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “But you must. It’s the only safe way. They 
 won’t come here.” 
 
 “Suppose they should? It’s an even chanpe 
 Longstreth ’ll search every room and corner in this 
 old house. If they found me here I couldn’t start 
 a fight. You might be hurt. Then — the fact of my 
 being here — ” 
 
 Duane did not finish what he meant, but instead 
 made a step toward the door. White of face and dark 
 of eye, she took hold of him to detain him. She 
 was as strong and supple as a panther. But she 
 need not have been either resolute or strong, for the 
 clasp of her hand was enough to make Duane weak. 
 
 “Up yet, Ray?” came Longstreth’s clear voice, 
 too strained, too eager to be natural. 
 
 “No. I’m in bed reading. Good night,” in- 
 stantly replied Miss Longstreth, so calmly and natu- 
 rally that Duane marveled at the difference between 
 man and woman. Then she motioned for Duane 
 to hide in the closet. He slipped in, but the door 
 would not close altogether. 
 
 “Are you alone?” went on Longstreth’s pene- 
 trating voice. 
 
 “Yes,” she replied. “Ruth went to bed.” 
 
 The door swung inward with a swift scrape and 
 jar. Longstreth half entered, haggard, flaming- 
 eyed. Behind him Duane saw Lawson, and indis- 
 tinctly another man. 
 
 Longstreth barred Lawson from entering, whigh 
 action showed control as well as distrust. He wanted 
 to see into the room. When he had glanced around 
 he went out and closed the door. 
 
 Then what seemed a long interval ensued. The 
 297 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 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 w r as a 
 new kind of adventure. He had divined the strange 
 softness of his feeling as something due to the mag- 
 netism of this beautiful woman. It hardly seemed 
 possible that he, who had been outside the pale for 
 so many years, could have fallen in love. Yet that 
 must be the secret of his agitation. 
 
 Presently he pushed open the closet door and 
 stepped forth. Miss Longstreth had her head lowered 
 upon her arms and appeared to be in distress. At 
 His touch she raised a quivering face. 
 
 “I think I can go now — safely,” he whispered. 
 “Go then, if you must, but you may stay till 
 you’re safe,” she replied. 
 
 “I— -I couldn’t thank you enough. It’s been hard 
 on me — this finding out — and you his daughter. I 
 feel strange. I don’t understand myself well. But 
 I want you to know — if I were not an outlaw — a 
 ranger — I’d lay my life at' your feet.” 
 
 “'Oh ! You have seen so — so little of me,” she 
 faltered. 
 
 “ Ail the same it’s true. And that makes me feel 
 more the trouble my coming caused you.” 
 
 <r You will not fight my father?” 
 
 ““Not if I can help it. I’m trying to get out of 
 ifts way.” 
 
 “But you spied upon him.” 
 
 “I am a ranger, Miss Longstreth.” 
 
 “And oh! I am a rustler’s daughter,” she cried. 
 “That’s so much more terrible than I’d suspect- 
 
 298 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 ed. It was tricky cattle deals I imagined he was en- 
 gaged in. But only to-night I had strong suspicions 
 aroused.” 
 
 “"How? Tell me.” 
 
 “I overheard Floyd say that, men were coming 
 to-night to arrange a meeting for my father at a 
 rendezvous near Ord. Father did not want to go. 
 Floyd taunted him with a name.” 
 
 ‘‘What name?” queried Duane. 
 
 “It was Cheseldine.” 
 
 “ Cheseldine ! My God! Miss Longstreth, why 
 did you tell me that?” 
 
 “What difference does that make?” 
 
 “Your father and Cheseldine are one and the 
 same,” whispered Duane, hoarsely. 
 
 “I gathered so much myself,” she replied, miser- 
 ably. “But Longstreth is father’s real name.” 
 
 Duane felt so stunned he could not speak at once. 
 It was the girl’s part in this tragedy that weakened 
 him. The instant she betrayed the secret Duane 
 realized perfectly that he did love her. The emotion 
 was like a great flood. 
 
 “Miss Longstreth, all this seems so unbeliev- 
 able, 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.swom to get him. 
 'I’m bound by more than law or oaths. I can’t 
 break what binds me. And I must disgrace you — 
 wreck your life! Why, Miss Longstreth, I believe I 
 —I love you. It’s all came in a rush. I’d die for 
 y<£l if I could. How fatal — terrible — this is ! How 
 tmngs work out!” 
 
 She slipped to her knees, with her hands on his 
 
 20 2 99 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 '‘You won’t kill him?” she implored. “If you 
 care for me — you won’t kill him?” 
 
 “No. That I promise you.” ^ 
 
 With a low moan she dropped her head upon the 
 bed. 
 
 Duane opened the door and stealthily stole out 
 through the corridor to the court. 
 
 When Duane got out into the dark, where his hot 
 face cooled in the wind, his relief equaled his other 
 feelings. 
 
 The night was dark, windy, stormy, yet there was 
 no rain. Duane hoped as soon as he got clear of 
 the ranch to lose something of the pain he felt. But 
 long after he had tramped out into the open there 
 was a lump in his throat and an ache in his breast. 
 All his thought centered around Ray Longstreth. 
 What a woman she had turned out to be ! He seemed 
 to have a vague, hopeless hope that there might be, 
 there must be, some way he could save her. 
 
* CHAPTER XXI 
 
 B EFORE going to sleep that night Duane had 
 decided to go to Ord and try to find the ren- 
 dezvous 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 Pog- 
 gin who needed to be found and stopped. Poggin 
 and his right-hand men ! Duane experienced a 
 strange, tigerish thrill, it was thought of Poggin 
 more than thought of success for MacNelly’s plan. 
 Duane felt dubious over this emotion. 
 
 Next day he set out for Bradford. He was glad 
 to get away from Fairdale for a while. But the hours 
 and the miles in no wise changed the new pain in 
 his heart. The only way he could forget Miss Long- 
 streth was to let his mind dwell upon Poggin, and 
 even this was not always effective. 
 
 He avoided Sanderson, and at the end of a day 
 and a half he arrived at Bradford. 
 
 The night of the day before he reached Bradford, 
 No. 6, the mail and express train going east, was 
 held up by train-robbers, the Wells-Fargo messenger 
 killed over his safe, the mail-clerk wounded, the bags 
 carried away. The engine of No. 6 came into town 
 minus even a tender, and engineer and fireman told 
 conflicting stories. A posse of railroad men and 
 
 3°i 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 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 hadfihe 
 sudden inspiration that he had been cudgeling ,liis 
 mind to find; and, acting upon it, he mounted his 
 horse again and left Bradford unobserved. As fie 
 rode out into the night, over a dark trail in the 
 direction of Ord, he uttered a short, grim, sardonic 
 laugh at the hope that he might be taken for a train- 
 robber. 
 
 He rode at an easy trot most of the night, and 
 when the black peak of Ord Mountain loomed up 
 against the stars he halted, tied his horse, and slept 
 until dawn. He had brought a small pack, and now 
 he took his time cooking breakfast. When the sjm 
 was well up he saddled Bullet, and, leaving the trail 
 where his tracks showed plain in the ground, he put 
 his horse to the rocks and brush. He selected an 
 exceedingly rough, roundabout, and difficult course 
 to Ord, hid his tracks with the skill of a long-hunted 
 fugitive, and arrived there with his horse winded 
 and covered with lather. It added considerable 
 to his arrival that the man Duane remembered^as 
 Fletcher and several others saw him come in the 
 back way through the lots and jump a fence into 
 the road. 
 
 Duane led Bullet up to the porch where Fletcher 
 stood wiping his beard. He was hatless, vestless, 
 and evidently had just enjoyed a morning drink. 
 
 “Howdy, Dodge,” said Fletcher, laconically. 
 
 Duane replied, and the other man returned the 
 greeting with interest. 
 
 “Jim, my hoss 's done up. I want to hide him 
 302 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 from any chance tourists as might happen to ride 
 up curious-like.” 
 
 ‘‘Haw! haw! haw!” 
 
 Duane gathered encouragement from that chorus 
 of coarse laughter. 
 
 “Wal, if them tourists ain’t too durned snooky 
 the.hoss ’ll be safe in the ’dobe shack back of Bill’s 
 here. Feed thar, too, but you’ll liev to rustle water.” 
 Du ane led Bullet to the place indicated, had care 
 . of his welfare, and left him there. Upon returning 
 to the tavern porch Duano saw the group of men 
 had been added to by others, some of whom he had 
 seen before. Without comment Duane walked along 
 the fedge of the road, and wherever one of the tracks 
 of lifs horse showed he carefully obliterated it. This 
 procedure was attentively watched by Fletcher and 
 his companions. 
 
 “Wal, Dodge,” remarked Fletcher, as Duane re- 
 turned, “thet’s safer ’n prayin' fer rain.” 
 
 Duane’s 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 
 mo3t assuredly not Poggin. Fletcher was no com- 
 mon/ outlaw, but, whatever his ability, it probably 
 fay 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 
 co\4d borrow a peso occasionally from the bartender. 
 Dugme set out to make himself agreeable and suc- 
 cee^fed. There was card-playing for small stakes, 
 Mlemjests of coarse nature, much bantering among 
 
 303 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 the younger fellows, and occasionally a mild quar- 
 rel. All morning men came and went, until, all told, 
 Duane calculated he had seen at least fifty. Toward 
 the middle of the afternoon a young fellow burst 
 into the saloon and yelled one word: 
 
 “Posse!” 
 
 From the scramble to get outdoors Duane judged 
 that word and the ensuing action was rare in Ord. 
 
 “What the hell!” muttered Fletcher, as he gazed 
 down the road at a dark, compact bunch of horses 
 and riders. “Fust time I ever seen thet in Ord! 
 We’re gettin’ popular like them camps out of Val- 
 entine. Wish Phil was here or Poggy. Now all 
 you gents keep quiet. I’ll do the talkin’.” 
 
 The posse entered the town, trotted up on dusty 
 horses, and halted in a bunch before the tavern. 
 The party consisted of about twenty men, all heavily 
 armed, and evidently in charge of a clean-cut, lean- 
 limbed cowboy. Duane experienced considerable 
 satisfaction at the absence of the sheriff who he had 
 understood was to lead the posse. Perhaps he was 
 out in another direction with a different force. 
 
 “Hello, Jim Fletcher,” called the cowboy. 
 
 “Howdy,” replied Fletcher. 
 
 At his short, dry response and the way he strode 
 leisurely out before the posse Duane found himself 
 modifying his contempt for Fletcher. The outlaw! 
 was different now. 
 
 “Fletcher, we’ve tracked a man to all but three 
 miles of this place. Tracks as plain as the nose on 
 your face. Found his camp. Then he hit into the 
 brush, an’ we lost the trail. Didn' t have no tracker 
 with us. Think he went, into the mountains. But 
 
 304 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 we took a chance an’ rid over the rest of the way, 
 seein’ Ord was so close. Anybody come in here late 
 last night or early this mornin’?” 
 
 “Nope,” replied Fletcher. 
 
 His response was what Duane had expected from 
 his manner, and evidently the cowboy took it as a 
 matter of course. Fie turned to the others of the 
 posse, entering into a. low consultation. Evidently 
 there was difference of opinion, if not real dissension, 
 in that posse. 
 
 “Didn’t I tell ye this was a wild-goose chase, 
 cornin’ way out here?” protested an old hawk-faced 
 rancher. “Them hoss tracks we follored ain’t like 
 any of them we seen at the water-tank where the 
 train was held up.” 
 
 “I’m not so sure of that,” replied the leaden 
 “Wal, Guthrie, I’ve follored tracks all my life--” 
 “But you couldn’t keep to the trail this feller 
 made in the brush.” 
 
 “Gimme time, an’ I could. Thet takes time. An’ 
 heah you go hell-bent fer election ! But it’s a wrong 
 lead out this way. If you’re right this road-agent, 
 after he killed his pals, would hev rid back right 
 through town. An’ with them mail-bags! Sup- 
 posin’ they was greasers? Some greasers has sense, 
 an’ when it comes to thievin’ they’re shore cute.’ 
 “But we aint got any reason to believe this rob- 
 ber 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 out- 
 side the train. The big man who shoved back the 
 
 305 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 car-door an’ did the killin' — he was the real gent, _ 
 an’ don’t you forget it:” 
 
 Some of the posse sided with the cowboy leader 
 and some with the old cattleman. Finally the young 
 leader disgustedly gathered up his bridle. 
 
 “Aw, hell! Thet sheriff shoved you off this trail. 
 Mebbe he hed reason! Savvy thet? If I hed a 
 bunch of cowboys with me — I tell you what — I’d 
 take a chance an J clean up this hole!” 
 
 All the while Jim Fletcher stood quietly with his 
 hands in his pockets. 
 
 “Guthrie, I’m shore treasurin’ up your friendly 
 talk,” he said. The menace was in the tone, not the 
 content of his speech. 
 
 “You can — an’ be damned to you, Fletcher!” 
 called Guthrie, as the Torses started. 
 
 Fletcher, standing out alone before the others of 
 his clan, watched the posse out of sight. 
 
 “Luck fer you-all thet Foggy wasn’t here,” he 
 said, as they disappeared. Then with a thought- 
 ful mien he strode up on the porch and led Duane 
 away from the others into the bar-room. When he 
 looked into Duan s face it was somehow an entirely 
 changed scrutiny. 
 
 “Dodge, where’ d you hide the stuff? I reckon 
 I git in on this deal, seein’ I staved off Guthrie.” 
 
 Duane played his part. Here was his opportu- 
 nity, and like a tiger after prey he seized it. First 
 he coolly eyed the outlaw and then disclaimed any 
 knowledge whatever of the train-robbery other than 
 Fletcher had heard himself. Then at Fletcher’s 
 persistence and admiration and increasing show of 
 friendliness he laughed occasionally and allowed 
 
 306 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 himself to swell with pride, though still denying. 
 Next he feigned a lack of consistent will-power and 
 seemed to be wavering tinder 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 com 
 panionship for the rest of that day he betrayed the 
 bent of his mind. 
 
 Later, when Duane started up armouncing his in- 
 tention to get his horse and make for camp out in 
 the brush, Fletcher seemed grievously offended. 
 
 “Why don’t you stay with me? I’ve got a com- 
 fortable ’dobe over here. Didn’t I stick by you when 
 Guthrie an’ his bunch come up? Supposin’ I hedn’t 
 showed down a cold hand to him ? You’d be swingin’ 
 somewheres now. I tell you. Dodge, it ain’t square.” 
 “I’ll square it. I pay my debts,” replied Duane. 
 “But I can’t put up here all night. If I belonged 
 to the gang it ’d be different.” 
 
 “What gang?” asked Fletcher, bluntly „ 
 
 “Why, Cheseldine’s.” 
 
 Fletcher’s beard nodded as his jaw dropped. 
 Duane laughed. “I run into him the other day, 
 Knowed him on sight. Sure, he’s the king-pin 
 rustler. When he seen me an’ asked me what rea- 
 son I had for bein’ on earth or some such like-why, 
 I iap an’ told him.” 
 
 Fletcher appeared staggered. 
 
 “Who in all-fired hell air you talkin’ about?” 
 “Didn’t I tell you once? Chesddine. He calls 
 himself Longstreth over there.” 
 
 All of Fletcher’s face not covered by hair turned 
 a dirty white. 
 
 307 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 "‘Cheseldine — Longstreth!” he whispered, hoarse- 
 ly. “Gord Almighty! You braced the — ” Then 
 a remarkable transformation came over the outlaw. 
 He gulped; he straightened his face; he controlled 
 his agitation. But he could not send the healthy 
 brown back to his face. Duane, watching this rude 
 man, marveled at the change in him, the sudden 
 checking movement, the proof of a wonderful fear 
 and loyalty. It all meant Cheseldine, a master of 
 men! 
 
 “Who air you?” queried Fletcher, in a queer, 
 strained voice. 
 
 “You gave me a handle, didn’t you? Dodge. 
 Thet’s as good as any. Shore it hits me hard. 
 Jim, I've been pretty lonely for years, an’ I’m 
 gettin’ in need of pals. Think it over, will you? 
 See you manana.” 
 
 The outlaw watched Duane go off after his horse, 
 watched him as he returned to the tavern, watched 
 him ride out into the darkness — all without a word. 
 
 Duane left the town, threaded a quiet passage 
 through cactus and mesquite to a spot he had 
 marked before, and made ready for the night. His 
 mind was so full that he found sleep aloof. Luck 
 at last was playing his game. He sensed the first 
 slow heave of a mighty crisis. The end, always 
 haunting, had to be sternly blotted from thought. 
 It was the approach that needed all his mind. 
 
 He passed the night there, and late in the morning, 
 after watching trail and road from a ridge, he t re- 
 turned 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 
 
 ■*o8 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 himself a little freedom with Fletcher, an attitude 
 hitherto lacking. 
 
 That afternoon a horseman rode in from Brad- 
 ford, an outlaw evidently well known and liked by 
 his fellows, and Duane heard him say, before he could 
 possibly have been told the train-robber was in Ord, 
 that the loss of money in the holdup was slight. 
 Like a flash Duane saw the luck of this report. He 
 pretended not to have heard. 
 
 In the early twilight at an. opportune moment 
 he called Fletcher to him, and, linking his arm within 
 the outlaw’s, he drew him off in a stroll to a log 
 bridge spanning a little gully. Here after gazing 
 around, he took out a roll of bills, spread it out, split 
 it equally, and without a word handed one half to 
 Fletcher. With clumsy fingers Fletcher ran through 
 the roll. 
 
 “Five hundred!” he exclaimed. “Dodge, thet’s 
 damn 'handsome of you, considerin’ the job wasn’t — 
 
 “Considerin’ nothin’,” interrupted Duane. “I’m 
 makin’ no reference to a job here or there. You did 
 me a good turn. I split my pile. If thet doesn’t 
 make us pards, good turns an’ money ain’t no use 
 in this country.” 
 
 Fletcher was won. 
 
 The two men spent much time together. Duane 
 made up a short fictitious history about himself 
 that satisfied the outlaw, only it drew forth a laugh- 
 ing 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 Ches- 
 eldine himself, would be persuaded of this fact, so 
 Fletcher boasted. He had influence. He would 
 
 309 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 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; aM the rest he was bursting hell. 
 But Poggin loved a horse. Pie never loved any- 
 thing else. He could be won with that black horse 
 Bullet. Cheseldine was already won by Duane’s 
 monumental nerve; otherwise he would have killed 
 Duane. 
 
 Little by little the next few days Duane learned 
 the points he longed to know ; and how indelibly 
 they etched themselves in his memory ! Cheseldine’s 
 hiding-place was on the far slope of Mount Ord, in 
 a deep, high-walled valley. He always went there 
 just before a contemplated job, where he met and 
 planned with his lieutenants. Then while they ex- 
 ecuted he basked in the sunshine before one or an- 
 other of the public places he owned. He w r as there 
 in the Ord den now, getting ready to plan the big- 
 gest job ^et. It was a bank-robbery; but where, 
 Fletcher had not as yet been advised. 
 
 Then when Duane had pumped the now amenable 
 outlaw of all details pertaining to the present he 
 gathered data and facts and places covering a period 
 of ten years Fletcher had been with Cheseldine. 
 And herewith was unfolded a history so dark in its 
 bloody regime, so incredible in its brazen daring, so 
 appalling in its proof of the outlaw’s sweep and 
 grasp of the country from Pecos to Rio Grande, that 
 Duane was stunned. Compared to this Cheseldine 
 of the Big Bend, to this rancher, stock-buyer, cattle- 
 speculator, property-holder, all the outlaws Duane 
 had ever known sank into insignificance. The power 
 
 31° 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 of tlie man stunned Duane; the strange fidelity- 
 given him stunned Duane; the intricate inside work- 
 ing of his great system was equally stunning. But 
 when Duane recovered from that the old terrible 
 passion to kill consumed him, and ii raged fiercely 
 and it could not be checked. If that red-handed. 
 Poggin, if that cold-eyed, dead-faced Knell had 
 only been at Ord! But they were not, and Duane 
 with help of time got what he hoped was the upper 
 hand of himself. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 AGAIN inaction and suspense dragged at Duane’s 
 spirit. Like a leashed hound with a keen scent 
 in his face Duane wanted to leap forth when he was 
 bound. He almost fretted. Something called to 
 him over the bold, wild brow of Mount Ord. But 
 while Fletcher stayed in Ord waiting for Knell and 
 Poggin, or for orders, Duane knew his game was 
 again a waiting one. 
 
 But one day there were signs of the long quiet of 
 Ord being broken. A messenger strange to Duane 
 rode in on a secret mission that had to do with 
 Fletcher. When he went away Fletcher became 
 addicted to thoughtful moods and lonely walks. 
 He seldom drank, and this in itself was a striking 
 contrast to former behavior. The messenger came 
 again. Whatever communication he brought, it had 
 a remarkable effect upon the outlaw. Duane was 
 present in the tavern when the fellow arrived, saw 
 the few words whispered, but did not hear them. 
 Fletcher turned white with anger or fear, perhaps 
 both, and he cursed like a madman. The messen- 
 ger, a lean, dark-faced, hard-riding fellow reminding 
 Duane of the cowboy Guthrie, left the tavern with- 
 out 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 
 
 312 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 Knell and Poggin? Apparently they were not at 
 present with the leader on the mountain. Alter 
 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. L became clear 
 now that the other outlaws of the camp feared him, 
 kept out of his way. Duane let him alone, yet close- 
 ly watched him. 
 
 Perhaps an hour after the messenger had left, not 
 longer, Fletcher manifestly arrived at s- me decision, 
 and he called for his horse. Then he went to his 
 shack and returned. To Duane the outlaw looked in 
 shape both to ride and to fight. He gave orders for 
 the men in camp to keep close until he returned. 
 Then he mounted. 
 
 “Come here, Dodge,” he called. 
 
 Duane went up and laid a hand on the pommel 
 of the saddle. Fletcher walked his horse, with 
 Duane beside him, till they reached the log bridge, 
 when he halted. 
 
 “Dodge, I’m in bad with Knell,” he said. “An’ 
 it ’pears I’m the cause of friction between Knell an’ 
 Poggy. Knell never had any use fer me, but Poggy’s 
 been square, if not friendly. The boss has a big deal 
 on, an’ here it’s been held up because of this scrap. 
 He’s waitin’ over there on the mountain to give 
 orders to Knell or Poggy, an' neither one’s showin’ 
 up. I’ve got to stand in the breach, an’ I ain’t en*- 
 joyin’ the prospects.” 
 
 “What’s the trouble about, Jim?” asked Duane. 
 
 “Reckon it’s a little about you, Dodge,” said 
 Fletcher, dryly. “Knell hadn’t any use fer you thet 
 
 313 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 day. He ain’t got no use fer a man onless he can 
 rule him. Some of the boys here hev blabbed be- 
 fore 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’ Peggy sick when he springs 
 It. But he’s keepin’ quiet. Hard man to figger, 
 fchet Knell. Reckon you’d better go back to Brad- 
 ford fer a day or so, then camp out near here till I 
 come back.” 
 
 “Why?” 
 
 “Wal, because there ain’t any use fer you to git 
 in bad, too. '.the gang will ride over here any day. 
 If they’re friendly I’ll light a fire on the hill there, 
 say three nights from 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. So long, Dodge.” 
 Then he rode array. 
 
 He left Duane in a quandary. This news was 
 black. Things had been worldng out so well. Here 
 was a setback. At the moment Duane did not 
 know which way to turn, but certainly he had no idea 
 of going back to Bradford. Friction between .the 
 two great lieutenants of Cheseldine! Open hostility 
 between one of them and another of the chief’s right- 
 hand men! Among outlaws that sort of thing was 
 deadly serious. Generally such matters were set- 
 tled with guns. Duane gathered encouragement 
 even from disaster. Perhaps the disintegration of 
 Cheseldine’s great band had already begun. But 
 what did Ivnell know? Duane did not circle around 
 the idea with doubts and hopes; if Knell knew any- 
 thing it was that this stranger in Ord, this new 
 partner of Fletcher’s, was no less than Buck Duane, 
 
 3*4 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 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 out- 
 law who had been fair to him. Duane concluded to 
 await developments and when the gang rode in to 
 Ord, probably from their various hiding-places, he 
 would be there ready to be denounced by Knell. 
 Duane could not see any other culmination cf 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 sit- 
 uation than he was now. If Poggin took up the 
 quarrel! Here Duane accused himself again — tried 
 in vain to revolt from a judgment that he was only 
 reasoning out excuses to meet these outlaws. 
 
 Meanwhile, instead of waiting, why not hunt up 
 Cheseldine in his mountain retreat? The thought 
 no sooner struck Duane than he was hurrying for his 
 horse. 
 
 He left Ord, ostensibly toward Bradford, but, once 
 out of sight, he turned off the road, circled through 
 the brush, and several miles south of town he struck 
 a narrow grass-grown trail that Fletcher had told 
 him led to Cheseldine’s camp. The horse tracks 
 along this trail were not less than a week old, and 
 very likely much more. It -wound between low, 
 brush-covered foothills, through arroyos and gullies 
 lined with mesquite, cottonwood, and scrub-oak. 
 
 In an hour Duane struck the slope of Mount Ord, 
 aad as he climbed he got a view of the rolling, black- 
 
 ,H5 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 spotted country, partly desert, partly fertile, with 
 long, bright lines of dry stream-beds winding away 
 to grow dim in the distance. He got among broken 
 rocks and cliffs, and here the open, downward-rolling 
 land disappeared, and he was hard put to it to find 
 the trail. He lost it repeatedly and made slow 
 progress. Finally he climbed into a region of all 
 rock benches, rough here, smooth there, with only 
 an occasional scratch of iron horseshoe to guide 
 him. Many times he had to go ahead and then 
 work to right or left till he found his way again. 
 It was slow work; it took all day; and night found 
 him half-way up the mountain. He halted at a 
 little side-canon with grass and water, and here he 
 made camp. The night was clear and cool at that 
 height, with a dark-blue sky and a streak of stars 
 blinking across. With this day of action behind 
 him he felt better satisfied than he had been for 
 some time. Here, on this venture, he was answering 
 to a call that had sc often directed his movements, 
 perhaps his life, and it was one that logic or intelli- 
 gence coulu take little stock of. And on this night, 
 lonely like the ones he used to spend in the Nueces 
 gorge, and memorable of them because of a likeness 
 to that old hiding-place, he felt the pressing return 
 of old haunting things — the past so long ago, wild 
 flights, dead faces — and the places of these were 
 taken by one quiveringly alive, white, tragic, with 
 its dark, intent, speaking eyes — Ray Longstreth’s. 
 
 ■ That last memory he yielded to until he slept. 
 
 In the morning, satisfied that he had left still 
 fewer tracks than he had followed up this trail, he 
 led his horse up to the head of the canon, there a 
 
 316 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 narrow crack in low cliffs, and with branches of 
 cedar fenced him in. Then he went back and took 
 up the trail on foot. 
 
 Without the horse he made better time and climbed 
 through deep clefts, wide canons, over ridges, up 
 shelving slopes, along precipices — a long, hard climb 
 — till he reached what he concluded was a divide. 
 Going down was easier, though the farther he fol- 
 lowed 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 es- 
 carpments, he saw the lower country beyond the 
 range, and beyond this, vast and clear as it lay in 
 his sight, was the great river that made the Big 
 Bend. He went down and down, wondering how 
 a horse could follow that broken trail, believing 
 there must be another better one somewhere into 
 Cheseldine’s hiding-place. 
 
 He rounded a jutting corner, where view had been 
 shut off, and presently came out upon the rim of a 
 high wall. Beneath, like a green gulf seen through 
 blue haze, lay an amphitheater walled in on the two 
 sides he could see. It lay perhaps a thousand feet 
 below him; and, plain as all the other features of 
 that wild environment, there shone out a big red 
 stone or adobe cabin, white water shining away 
 between great borders, and horses and cattle dot- 
 ting the levels. It was a peaceful, beautiful scene. 
 Duane could not help grinding his teeth at the 
 thought of rustlers living there in quiet and ease. 
 
 Duane worked half-way down to the level, and, 
 3i7 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 well hidden in a niche, he settled himself to watch 
 both trail and valley. He made note of the position 
 of the sun and saw that if anything developed or 
 if he decided to descend any farther there was small 
 likelihood of his getting back to his camp before 
 dark. To try that after nightfall he imagined would 
 be vain effort. 
 
 Then he bent his keen eyes downward. The 
 cabin appeared to be a crude structure. Though 
 large in size, it had, of course, been built by outlaws. 
 
 There was no garden, no cultivated field, no corral. 
 Excepting for the rude pile of stones and logs plas- 
 tered together with mud, the valley was as wild, prob- 
 ably, as on the day of discovery. Duane seemed to 
 have been watching for a long time before he saw 
 any sign of man, and this one apparently went to 
 the stream for water and returned to the cabin. 
 
 The sun went down behind the wall, and shadows 
 were born in the darker places of the valley. Duane 
 began to want to get closer to that cabin. What 
 had he taken this arduous climb for? He held 
 back, however, trying to evolve further plans. 
 
 "While he was pondering the shadows quickly 
 gathered and darkened. If he was to go back to 
 i .lamp he must set out at once. Still he lingered. 
 And suddenly his wide-roving eye caught sight of 
 two horsemen riding up the valley. They must 
 have entered at a point below, round the huge abut- 
 ment of rock, beyond Duane’s range of sight. Their 
 horses were tired and stopped at the stream for a 
 long drink. 
 
 Duane left his porch, took to the steep trail, and 
 descended as fast as he could without making noise. 
 
 318 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 It did not take him long to reach the valley floor. 
 It was almost level, with deep grass, and here and 
 there clumps of bushes. Twilight was already thick 
 down there. Duane marked the location of the trail, 
 and then began to slip like a shadow through the 
 grass and from bush to bush. He saw a bright light 
 before he made out the dark outline of the cabin. 
 Then he heard voices, a merry whistle, a coarse 
 song, and the clink of iron cooking-utensils. He 
 smelled fragrant wood-smoke. He saw moving dark 
 figures cross the light. Evidently there was a wide 
 door, or else the fire was out in the open. 
 
 Duane swerved to the left, out of direct line with 
 the light, and thus was able to see better. Then he 
 advanced noiselessly but swiftly toward the back 
 of the house. There were trees close to the wall. 
 He would make no noise, and he could scarcely be 
 seen — if only there was no watch-dog! But all his 
 outlaw days he had taken risks with only his use- 
 less life at stake; now, with that changed, he ad- 
 vanced stealthy and bold as an Indian. He reached 
 the cover of the trees, knew he was hidden in their 
 shadows, for at few paces’ distance he had been able 
 to see only their tops. From there he slipped up 
 to the house and felt along the wall with his hands. 
 
 He came to a little window where light shone 
 through. He peeped in. He saw a room shrouded 
 in shadows, a lamp turned low, a table, chairs. He 
 saw an open door, with bright flare beyond, but 
 could not see the fire. Voices came indistinctly. 
 Without hesitation Duane stole farther along — all 
 the way to the end of the cabin. Peeping round, he 
 saw only the flare of light on bare ground. Retrac- 
 
 319 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 mg 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 otd shed, a wood-pile, 
 all the cover he needed at that comer. He did not 
 even need to crawl. 
 
 Before he peered between the rough comer 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 bitter- 
 ness, no pain, no dread. There was as much danger 
 here, perhaps more, yet it was not the same. Then 
 he looked. 
 
 He saw a bright fire, a red-faced man bending 
 over it, whistling, while he handled a steaming pot. 
 Over him was a roofed shed built against the wall, 
 with two open sides and two supporting posts. 
 Duane’s second glance, not so blinded by the sud- 
 den bright light, made out other men, three in the 
 shadow, two in the flare, but with backs to him. 
 
 “It’s a smoother trail by long odds, but ain’t so 
 short as this one right over the mountain,” one out- 
 law was saying. « 
 
 “What’s eatin’ you, Panhandle?” ejaculated an- 
 other. “Blossom an’ me rode from Faraway Springs, 
 vsAere Poggin is with some of the gang.” 
 
 “Excuse me, Phil. Shore I didn’t see you come 
 in, an’ Boldt never said nothin’.” 
 
 “It took you a long time to get here, but I guess 
 that’s just as well,” spoke up a smooth, suave voice 
 with a ring in it. 
 
 Longstreth’s voice — Cheseldine’s voice! 
 
 Here they were — Cheseldine, Phil Knell, Blossom 
 
 f >.20 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 Kane, Panhandle Smith, Boldt — how well Duane 
 remembered the names! — all here, the big men of 
 Cheseldiae’s gang, except the biggest — Poggin. 
 Duane had holed them, and his sensations of the 
 moment deadened sight and sound of what was be- 
 fore him. He sank down, controlled himself, si- 
 lenced a mounting exultation, then from a less- 
 strained position he peered forth again. 
 
 The outlaws were waiting for supper. Their con- 
 versation might have been that of cowboys in camp, 
 ranchers at a round-up. Duane .ened with eager 
 ears, waiting for the business talk ,ut he felt would 
 come. All the time be watched with the eyes of a 
 wolf upon its quarry. Blossom Kane was the lean- 
 limbed messenger who had so angered Fletcher. 
 Boldt was a giant in stature, dark, bearded, silent. 
 Panhandle Smith was the red -faced cook, merry, 
 profane, a short, bow-legged man resembling man}?' 
 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, hand- 
 some, 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 ad- 
 dressed, his name was not mentioned. 
 
 Panhandle Smith carried pots and pans into the 
 cabin, and cheerfully called out: “If you gents air 
 hungry fer grub, don’t look fer me to feed you with 
 a spoon.” 
 
 The outlaws piled inside, made a great bustle and 
 321 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 olatter as they sat to their meal. Like hungry men, 
 they talked little. 
 
 Duane waited there awhile, then guardedly got 
 up and crept round to the other side of the cabin. 
 After he became used to the dark again he ventured 
 to steal along the wall to the window and peeped 
 in. The outlaws were in the first room and could 
 not be seen. 
 
 Duane waited. The moments dragged endlessly. 
 His heart pounded. Longstreth entered, turned up 
 the light, and, taking a box of cigars from the table, 
 he carried it our 
 
 “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 him- 
 self. 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. Pres- 
 ently 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. lie seemed 
 preoccupied and, as always, cold. 
 
 “What’s wrong, Knell? Why didn’t you get here 
 sooner?” queried Longstreth. 
 
 “Poggin, damn him! We’re on the outs again.” 
 
 “mat for?” 
 
 “Aw, he needn’t have got sore. He’s breakin’ a 
 new hoss over there at Faraway, an’ you know him 
 where a hoss ’s concerned. That kept him, I reckon, 
 more than anythin'.” 
 
 S3 a 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “What else? Get it out of your system so we can 
 go on to the new job." 
 
 “Well, it begins back a ways. I don’t know how 
 long ago — weeks — a stranger rode into Ord an’ got 
 down easy-like as if he owned the place. He seemed 
 familiar to me. But I wasn’t sure. We looked him 
 over, an’ I left, tryin’ to place him in my mind." 
 
 “What ’d he look like?” 
 
 “Rangy,powerful man, white hair over his temples, 
 still, hard face, eyes like knives. The way he packed 
 his guns, the way he walked an’ stood an’ swung 
 Ms right hand showed me what he was. You can’t 
 fool me on the gun- sharp. An’ he had a grand 
 horse, a big black.” 
 
 “I’ve met your man,” said Longstreth. 
 
 “No!” exclaimed Knell. It was wonderful to 
 hear surprise expressed by this man that did not in 
 the least show it in his strange physiognomy. 
 Knell laughed a short, grim, hollow laugh. “Boss;, 
 this here big gent drifts into Ord again an’ makes 
 up to Jim Fletcher. Jim, you know, is easy led. 
 He likes men. An’ when a posse come along trailin’ 
 a blind lead, huntin’ the wrong way for the man 
 who held up No. 6, why, Jim — he up an’ takes 
 this stranger to be the fly road-agent an’ cottons 
 to him. Got money out of him sure. An’ that’s 
 what stumps me more. What’s this man’s game? 
 I happen to know, buss, that he couldn’t have held 
 up No. 6.” 
 
 “How do you know?” demanded Longstreth. 
 
 “Because I did the job myself.” 
 
 A dark and stormy passion clouded the chief’s 
 
 face. 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “Damn you, Knell! You’re incorrigible. You’re 
 unreliable. Another break like that queers you 
 with me. Did you tell Poggin?” 
 
 “Yes. That’s one reason we fell out. He raved. 
 I thought he was goin’ to kill me.” 
 
 “Why did you tackle such a risky job without 
 help or plan?” 
 
 “It offered, that’s all. An’ it was easy. But it 
 was a mistake. I got the country an’ the railroad 
 hollerin’ for nothin’. I just couldn’t help it. You 
 know what idleness means to one of us. You know 
 also that this very life breeds fatality. It’s wrong — 
 that’s why. I was born of good parents, an’ I know 
 what’s right. We’re wrong, an’ we can’t beat the 
 end, that’s all. An’ for my part I don’t care a damn 
 when that comes.” 
 
 “Fine wise talk from you, Knell,” said Long- 
 streth, 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 pard 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 
 
 324 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 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 1 
 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 cal- 
 culated to make Jim hump. Poggin got sore, said 
 he’d wait for Jim, an’ I could come over here to see 
 you about the new job. He’d meet me in Ord.” 
 Knell had spoken hurriedly and low, now and then 
 with passion. His pale eyes glinted like fire in ice. 
 and now his voice fell to a whisper. 
 
 “Who do you think Fletcher’s new man is?’ 
 “Who?” demanded Longstreth. 
 
 “ Buck Duane!” 
 
 Down came Longstreth’s boots with a crash, 
 then his body grew rigid. 
 
 “That Nueces outlaw? That two-shot ace-of- 
 spades gun-thrower who killed Bland, Alloway — V 
 “An’ Hardin.” Knell whisperedXhis last name 
 with more feeling than the apparent circumstance 
 demanded. 
 
 “Yes; and Hardin, the best one of the Rim 
 Rock fellows — Buck Duane!” 
 
 Longstreth was so ghastly white now that his 
 black mustache seemed outlined against chalk. He 
 eyed his grim lieutenant. They understood each 
 other without more words. It was enough that 
 
 325 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 Buck Duane was there in the Big Bend. Long 
 streth rose presently and reached for a flask, from 
 which he drank, then offered it to Knell. He waved 
 
 st aside. 
 
 “Knell,” began the chief, slowly, as he wiped his 
 dps, “I gathered you have some grudge against this 
 Buck Duane.” 
 
 “Yes.” 
 
 “Well, don’t be a fool now and do what 
 
 Poggin or almost any of you men would — don’t 
 meet this Buck Duane. I’ve reason to believe he’s 
 a Texas Ranger now.” 
 
 “The hell y<u say!” exclaimed Knell. 
 
 “Yes. Go to Ord and give Jim Fletcher a hunch. 
 He’ll get Poggin, and they’11 fix even Buck Duane.” 
 
 “All right. I’ll do my best. But if I run into 
 Duane — ” 
 
 “Don’t run into him!” Longstreth’s voice fairly 
 rang with the force of its passion and command. 
 He wiped his face, drank again from the flask, sat 
 down, resumed his smoking, and, drawing a paper 
 from his vest pocket, he began to study it. 
 
 “Well, I’m glad that’s settled,” he said, evidently 
 referring to the Duane matter. “Now for the new 
 job. This is October the eighteenth. On or be- 
 fore the twenty-fifth there will be a shipment of 
 gold reach the Rancher’s Bank of Val Verde. 
 After you return to Ord give Poggin these orders. 
 Keep the gang quiet. You, Poggin, Kane, Fletcher, 
 Panhandle Smith, and Boldt to be in on the secret 
 and the job. Nobody else. You’ll leave Ord on 
 the twenty-third, ride across country by the trail 
 till you get within sight of Mercer. It's a hur 
 
 326 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 dred miles from Bradford to Val Verde — about the 
 same from Qrd. Time your travel to get you near 
 Val Verde on the morning of the twenty-sixth. You 
 won’t have to more than trot your horses. At two 
 o’clock in the afternoon, sharp, ride into town and 
 up to the Rancher’s Bank. Val Verde’s a pretty 
 big town. Never been any holdups there. Town 
 feels safe. Make it a clean, fast, daylight job. 
 That’s all. Have you got the details?” 
 
 Knell did not even ask for the dates again. 
 
 “Suppose Poggin or me might be detained?” he 
 asked. 
 
 Longstreth bent a dark glance upon his lieutenant. 
 
 “You never can tell what ’ll come off.” continued 
 Knell. “I’ll do my best.” 
 
 “The minute you see Poggin ted him. A job on 
 hand steadies him. And I say again — look to it 
 that nothing happens. Either you or Poggin carry 
 the job through. But I want both of you in it. 
 Break for the hills, and when you get up in the 
 rocks where you can hide your tracks head for 
 Mount Ord. When all's quiet again I’ll join you 
 here. That’s all. Call in the boys.” 
 
 Like a swift shadow and as noiseless Duane stole 
 across the level toward the dark wall of rock. Every 
 nerve was a strung wire. For a little while his mind 
 was cluttered and clogged with whirling thoughts, 
 from which, like a flashing scroll, unrolled the long, 
 baffling order of action. The game was now in his 
 hands. He must cross Mount Ord at night. The 
 feat was improbable, but it might be done. He must 
 ride into Bradford, forty miles from the foothills 
 
 327 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 before eight o’clock next morning. He must tele 
 graph MacNelly to be in Val Verde on the twenty- 
 fifth. He must ride back to Ord, to intercept Knell, 
 face him, be denounced, kill him, and while the 
 iron was hot strike hard to win Poggin’s half-won 
 interest as he had wholly won Fletcher’s. Failing 
 that last, he must let the outlaws alone to bide their 
 time in Ord, to be free to ride on to their new job 
 in Val Verde. In the mean time he must plan to 
 arrest Longstreth. It was a magnificent outline, 
 incredible, alluring, unfathomable in its nameless 
 certainty He felt like fate. He seemed to be the 
 iron consequences falling upon these doomed out- 
 laws. 
 
 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 gray ness between bor- 
 ders of black. He climbed and never stopped. It 
 did not seem steep. Hi? 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 splin- 
 tered 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 
 
 328 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 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 de- 
 scended, almost always sure of his memory of the 
 landmarks. He did not remember having studied 
 them in the ascent, yet here they were, even in 
 changed light, familiar to his sight. What he had 
 once seen was pictured on his mind. And, true as 
 a deer striking for home, he reached the canon where 
 he had left his horse. 
 
 Bullet was quickly and easily found. Duane 
 threw on the saddle and pack, cinched them tight, 
 and resumed his descent. The worst was now to 
 come. Bare downward steps in rock, sliding, weath- 
 ered slopes, narrow black gullies, a thousand open- 
 ings in a maze of broken stone — these Duane had to 
 descend in fast time, leading a giant of a horse. 
 Bullet cracked the loose fragments, sent them roll- 
 ing, slid on the scaly slopes, plunged down the steps, 
 followed like a faithful dog at Duane’s heels. 
 
 Hours passed as moments. Duane was equal to 
 his great opportunity. But he could not quell that 
 self in him whnh reached back over the lapse of 
 lonely, searing years and found the boy in him. He 
 who had been worse than dead was now grasping 
 at the skirts of life — which meant victory, honor, 
 happiness. Duane knew he was not just right in 
 part of his mind. Small wonder that he was not in- 
 sane, 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. Vet all the time a spirit 
 was keeping step with him. Thought of Ray Long- 
 
 320 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 streth 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 dow r n to Ord. The little 
 outlaw camp, with its shacks and cabins and row 
 of houses, lay silent and dark under the paling moon. 
 Duane passed by on the lower trail, headed into the 
 road, and put Bullet to a gallop. He watched the 
 dying moon, the waning stars, and the east. He 
 had time to spare, so he saved the horse. Knell 
 would be leaving the rendezvous about the time 
 Duane turned back toward Ord. Between noon and 
 sunset they would meet. 
 
 The night wore on. The moon sank behind low 
 mountains in the west. The stars brightened for a 
 while, then faded. Gray gloom enveloped the world, 
 thickened, lay like smoke over the road. Then shade 
 by shade it lightened, until through the transparent 
 obscurity shone a dim light. 
 
 Duane reached Bradford before dawn. He dis- 
 mounted 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 
 
 33 ° 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 tapped on the window he looked up with startled 
 glance, then went swiftly to unlock the door. 
 
 “Hello. Give me paper and pencil. Quick,” 
 whispered Duane. 
 
 With trembling hands the operator complied. 
 Duane wrote out the message he had carefully com- 
 posed. 
 
 “Send this — repeat it to make sure — then keep 
 mum. I’ll see you again. Good-by.” 
 
 The operator stared, but did not speak a word. 
 
 Duane left as stealthily and swiftly as ' he had 
 come. He walked his horse a couple of miles back 
 on the road and then rested him till break of day. 
 The east began to redden, Duane turned grimly in 
 the direction of Ord. 
 
 When Duane swung into the wide, grassy square 
 on the outskirts of Ord he saw a bunch of saddled 
 horses hitched in front of the tavern. He knew 
 what that meant. Luck still favored him. If it 
 would only hold! But he could ask no more. The 
 rest was a matter of how greatly he could make his 
 power felt. An open conflict against odds lay in the 
 balance. That would be fatal to him, and to avoid 
 it he had to trust to his name and a presence he must 
 make terrible. He knew outlaws. He knew what 
 qualities held them. He knew what to exaggerate. 
 
 There was not an outlaw in sight. The dusty 
 horses had covered distance that morning. As Duane 
 dismounted he heard loud, angry voices inside the 
 tavern. He removed coat and vest, hung them 
 over the pommel. He packed two guns, one belted 
 high ©a the left hip, the other swinging low on the 
 
 *« 331 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 right side. He neither looked nor listened, but 
 boldly pushed the door and stepped inside. 
 
 The big ocm was full of men, and every face 
 pivoted toward him. Knell’s pale face flashed into 
 Duane’s swiit sight; then Boldt’s, then Blossom 
 Kane’s, then Panhandle Smith’s, then Fletcher’s, 
 then others that were familiar, and last that of 
 Poggin. Though Duane had never seen Poggin or 
 heard him described, he knew him. For he saw a 
 face that was a record of great and evil deeds. 
 
 There was absolute silence. The outlaws were 
 lined back of a long table upon which were papers, 
 stacks of silver coin, a bundle of bills, and a huge 
 gold-mounted gun. 
 
 “Are you gents lookin’ for me?” asked Duane. 
 He gave his voice all tP ringing force and power 
 of which he was capabi ,. And he stepped back, 
 free of anything, with the outlaws all before him. 
 
 Knell stood quivering, but his face might have 
 been a mask. The other outlaws looked from him 
 to Duane. Jim Fletcher flung up his hands. 
 
 “My Gawd, Dodge, what ’d you bust in here fer?” 
 he said, plaintively, and slowly stepped forward. 
 His action was that of a man true to himself. He 
 meant he had been sponsor for Duane and now he 
 would stand by him. 
 
 “Back, Fletcher!” called Duane, and his voice 
 made the outlaw jump. 
 
 “Hold on, Dodge, an’ you-all, everybody,” said 
 Fletcher. “Let me talk, seein’ I’m in wrong here.” 
 
 His persuasions did not ease the strain. 1 
 
 “Go ahead. Talk,” said Poggin. 
 
 Fletcher turned to Duane. “Pard, I’m takin’ it 
 33= 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 on myself thet you meet enemies here when I swore 
 you’d meet friends. It’s my fault. I’ll stand by 
 you if you let me.” 
 
 “No, Jim,” replied Duane. 
 
 “But what ’d you come fer without the signal?” 
 burst out Fletcher, in distress. He saw nothing but 
 catastrophe in this meeting. 
 
 ‘‘Jim, I ain’t pressin’ my company none. But 
 when I’m wanted bad — ” 
 
 Fletcher stopped him with a raised hand. Then 
 he turned to Poggin with a nide dignity. 
 
 ‘ ‘ Poggy, he’s my pard, an’ he’s riled. I never told 
 him a word thet ’d make him sore. I only said 
 Knell hadn’t no more use fer him than fer me. Now, 
 what you say goes in this gang. I never failed you 
 in my life. Here’s my pard. I vouch fer him. 
 Will you stand fer me? There’s goin’ to be hell if 
 you don’t. An’ us with a big job on hand!” 
 
 While Fletcher toiled over his slow, earnest per- 
 suasion 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, >*dth glance 
 seeing the physical man, instead of that thing which 
 shone from him, he was of perfect build, with muscles 
 that swelled and rippled, bulging his clothes, with 
 the magnificent head and face of the cruel, fierce, 
 tawny-eyed jaguar. 
 
 Looking at this strange Poggin, instinctively di- 
 vining his abnormal and hideous power, Duane had 
 for the first time in his life the inward quaking fear 
 of a man. It was like a cold-tongued bell ringing 
 within him and numbing his heart. The old instinc 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 trire firing of blood followed, but did not drive away 
 that fear. He knew. He felt something here deeper 
 than thought could go. And he hated Poggin. 
 
 That individual had been considering Fletcher’s 
 appeal. 
 
 “Jim, I ante up,” he said, “an’ if Phil doesn’t 
 raise us out with a big hand — why, he’ll get called, 
 an’ your pard can set in the game.” 
 
 Every eye shifted to Knell. He was dead white. 
 He laughed, and any one hearing that laugh would 
 have realized his intense anger equally with an as- 
 surance which made him master of the situation. 
 
 “Poggin, you’re a gambler, you are — the acq- 
 high, straight-flush hand of the Big Bend,” he said, 
 with stinging scorn. “I’ll bet you my roll to a 
 greaser peso that I can deal you a hand you’ll be 
 afraid to play.” 
 
 “Phil, you’re talkin’ wild,” growled Poggin, with 
 both advice and menace in his tone. 
 
 “If there’s anythin’ you hate it’s a man who pre- 
 tends to be somebody else when he’s not. Thet so?” 
 
 Poggin nodded in slow-gathering wrath. 
 
 “Well, pirn’s new pard — this man Dodge-— he’s 
 not who he seems. Oh-ho ! He’s a hell of a lot dif- 
 ferent. But I know him. An’ when I spring his 
 name on you, Poggin, you’ll freeze to your gizzard. 
 Do you get me? You’ll freeze, an’ your hand ’ll be 
 stiff when it ought to be lightnin’ — All because you’ll 
 realize you’ve been standin’ there five minutes — 
 five minutes alive before him!” 
 
 If not hate, then assuredly great passion toward 
 Poggin manifested itself in Knell’s scornful, fiery 
 address, in the shaking hand he thrust before Pog- 
 
 334 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 gin’s face. In the ensuing silent pause Knell’s 
 panting could be plainly heard. The other men 
 were pale, watchful, cautiously edging either way 
 to the wall, leaving the principals and Duane in the 
 center of the room. 
 
 “Spring his name, then, you — ” said Poggin, 
 violently, with a curse. 
 
 Strangely Knell did not even look at the man he 
 was about to denounce. He leaned toward Poggin, 
 his hands, his body, his long head all somewhat ex- 
 pressive of what his face disguised. 
 
 “ Buck Duane!” he yelled, suddenly. 
 
 The name did not make any great difference in 
 Poggin. But Knell’s passionate, swift utterance car- 
 ried the suggestion that the name ought to bring 
 Poggin to quick action. It was possible, too, that 
 Knell's manner, the import of his denunciation, the 
 meaning back of all his passion held Poggin bound 
 more than the surprise. For the outlaw certainly 
 was surprised, perhaps staggered at the idea that 
 he, Poggin, had been about to stand sponsor with 
 Fletcher for a famous outlaw hated and feared by 
 all outlaws. 
 
 Knell waited a long moment, and then his face 
 broke its cold immobility in an extraordinary ex- 
 pression of devilish glee. He had hounded the great 
 Poggin into something that gave him vicious, mon- 
 strous joy. 
 
 “Buck Duane! Yes,” he broke out, hotly. “The 
 Nueces gunman! That two-shot, ace-of -spades lone 
 wolf! You an’ I — we’ve heard a thousand times of 
 him — talked about him often. An’ here he is in front 
 of yon! Poggin, you were backin’ Fletcher’s new 
 
 335 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 pard, Buck Duane. An’ he’d fooled you both but for 
 me. But / know him. An’ I know why he drifted 
 in here. To flash a gun on Cheseldine — on you — on 
 me ! Bah ! Don’t tell me he wanted to join the gang. 
 You know a gunman, for you’re one yourself. Don’t 
 you always want to kill another man? An’ don’t 
 you always want to meet a real man, not a four- 
 flush? It’s the madness of the gunman, an’ I know 
 it. Well, Duane faced you — called you! An’ when 
 I sprung his name, what ought you have done? 
 What would the boss — anybody — have expected of 
 Poggin? Did you throw your gun, swift, like you 
 have so often? Naw; you froze. An’ why? Be- 
 cause here’s a man with the kind of nerve you’d 
 love to have. Because he’s great — meetin’ us here 
 alone. Because you know he’s a wonder with a gun 
 an’ you love life. Because you an’ I an’ every damned 
 man here had to take his front, each to himself. If 
 we all drew we’d kill him. Sure! But who’s goin’ 
 to lead? Who was goin’ to be first? Who was goin’ 
 to make him draw? Not you, Poggin! You leave 
 that for a lesser man — me — who’ve lived to see you 
 a coward. It comes once to every gunman. You’ve 
 met your match in Buck Duane. An’, by God, I’m 
 glad! Here’s once I show you up!” 
 
 The hoarse, taunting voice failed. Knell stepped 
 back from the comrade he hated. He was wet, 
 shaking, haggard, but magnificent. 
 
 “Buck Duane, do you remember Hardin?” he 
 asked, in scarcely audible voice. 
 
 “Yes,” replied Duane, and a flash of insight made 
 clear Knell’s attitude. 
 
 “You met him — forced him to draw — killed him ?” 
 
 33*5 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “Yes.” 
 
 “Hardin was the best pard I ever had.” 
 
 His teeth clicked together tight, and his lips set 
 in a thin line. 
 
 The room grew still. Even breathing ceased. The 
 time for words had passed. In that long moment 
 of suspense Knell’s body gradually stiffened, and at 
 last the quivering ceased. He crouched. His eyes 
 had a soul-piercing fire. 
 
 Duane watched them. He waited. He caught 
 the thought — the breaking of Knell’s muscle-bound 
 rigidity. Then he drew. 
 
 Through the smoke of his gun he saw two red 
 spurts of flame. Knell’s bullets thudded into the 
 ceiling. He fell with a scream like a wild thing in 
 agony. 
 
 Duane did not see Knell die. He watched Poggin. 
 And Poggin, like a stricken and astounded man, 
 looked down upon his prostrate comrade. 
 
 Fletcher ran at Duane with hands aloft. 
 
 “Hit the trail, you liar, or you’ll hev to kill me!” 
 he yelled. 
 
 With hands still up, he shouldered and bodied 
 Duane out of the room. 
 
 Duane leaped on his horse, spurred, and plunged 
 away. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 D UANE returned to Fairdale and camped in the 
 mesquite till the twenty-third of the month. 
 The few days seemed endless. All he could think 
 of was that the hour in which he must disgrace Ray 
 Longstreth was slowly but inexorably coming. In 
 that waiting time he learned what love was and 
 also duty. When the day at last dawned he rode 
 like one possessed down the rough slope, hurdling 
 the stones and crashing through the brush, with a 
 sound in his ears that was not all the rush of the 
 wind. Something dragged at him. 
 
 Apparently one side of his mind was unalterably 
 fixed, while the other was a hurrying conglomera- 
 tion of flashes of thought, reception of sensations. 
 He could not get calmness. By and by, almost in- 
 voluntarily, 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 con- 
 tinue. 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, 
 
 338 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 only to go on again. At length, as he mounted a 
 low ridge, Fairdale lay bright and green before him 
 not far away, and the sight was a conclusive check. 
 There were mesquites on the ridge, and Duane 
 sought the shade beneath them. It was the noon- 
 hour, with hot, glary sun and no wind. Here Duane 
 had to have out his fight. Duane was utterly un- 
 like himself; he could not bring the old self back; 
 he was not the same man he once had been. But 
 he could understand why. It was because of Ray 
 Longstreth. Temptation assailed him. To have 
 her his wife! It was impossible. The thought was 
 insidiously alluring. Duane pictured a home. He 
 saw himself riding through the cotton and rice and 
 cane, home to a stately old mansion, where long- 
 eared hounds bayed him welcome, and a woman 
 looked for him and met him with happy and beau- 
 tiful smile. There might — there would be children. 
 And something new, strange, confounding with its 
 emotion, came to life deep in Duane’s heart. There 
 would be children! Ray their mother! The kind 
 of life a lonely outcast always yearned for and never 
 had ! He saw it all, felt it all. 
 
 But beyond and above all other claims came 
 Captain MacNelly’s. It was then there was some- 
 thing cold and death-like in Duane’s soul. For he 
 knew, whatever happened, of one thing he was sure 
 — he would have to kill either Longstreth or Lawson. 
 Longstreth might be trapped into arrest ; but Lawson 
 had no sense, no control, no fear. He would snarl 
 like a panther and go for his gun, and he would have 
 to be killed. This, of all consummations, was the 
 one to be calculated upon. 
 
 339 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 Duane came out of it all bitter and callous and 
 sore — in the most fitting of moods to undertake a 
 difficult and deadly enterprise. He had fallen upon 
 his old strange, futile dreams, new rendered poignant 
 by reason of love. He drove away those dreams. 
 In their places came the images of the olive-skinned 
 Longstreth with his sharp eyes, and the dark, evil- 
 faced Lawson, and then returned tenfold more 
 thrilling arid sinister the old strange passion to meet 
 Poggin. 
 
 It was about one o’clock when Duane rode into 
 Fairdale. The streets for the most part were de- 
 serted. He went directly to find Morton and 
 Zimmer. He found them at length, restless, somber, 
 anxious, but unaware of the part he had played at 
 Ord. They said Longstreth was home, too. It was 
 possible that Longstreth had arrived home in igno- 
 rance. 
 
 Duane told them to be on hand in town with 
 their men in case he might need them, and then 
 with teeth locked he set off for Longstreth’s ranch. 
 
 Duane stole through the bushes and trees, and 
 when nearing the porch he heard loud, angry, 
 familiar voices. Longstreth and Lawson were quar- 
 reling again. How Duane’s lucky star guided him! 
 He had no plan of action, but his brain was equal 
 to a hundred lightning-swift evolutions. He meant 
 to take any risk rather than kill Longstreth. Both 
 of the men were out on the porch. Duane wormed 
 his way to the edge of the shrubbery and crouched 
 low to watch for his opportunity. 
 
 Longstreth looked haggard and thin. He was in 
 his shirt-sleeves, and he had come out with a gun in 
 
 340 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 his hand. This he laid on a table near the wall. 
 He wore no belt. 
 
 Lawson was red, bloated, thick-lipped, all fiery 
 and sweaty from drink, though sober on the moment, 
 and he had the expression of a desperate man in 
 his last stand. It was his last stand, though he 
 was ignorant of that. 
 
 “What’s your news? You needn’t be afraid of 
 my feelings,” said Lawson. 
 
 “Ray confessed to an interest in this ranger,” 
 replied Longstreth. 
 
 Duane thought Lawson would choke. He was 
 thick-necked anyway, and the rush of blood made 
 him tear at the soft collar of his shirt. Duane awaited 
 his chance, patient, cold, all his feelings shut in a vise. 
 
 “But why should your daughter meet this ranger?” 
 demanded Lawson, harshly. 
 
 “She’s in love with him, and he’s in love with her.” 
 
 Duane reveled in Lawson’s condition. The state- 
 ment might have had the force of a juggernaut. Was 
 Longstreth sincere? What was his game? 
 
 Lawson, finding his voice, cursed Ray, cursed the 
 ranger, then Longstreth. 
 
 “You damned selfish fool!” cried Longstreth, in 
 deep bitter scorn. “All you think of is yourself — ■ 
 your loss of the girl. Think once of me — my home 
 — my life!” 
 
 Then the connection subtly pxit out by Longstreth 
 apparently dawned upon the other. Somehow 
 through this girl her father and cousin were to be 
 betrayed. Duane got that impression, though he 
 could not tell how true it was. Certainly Lawson’s 
 jealousy was his paramount emotion. 
 
 34i 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “To hell with you!” burst out Lawsoa, inoo- 
 L^rently. He was frenzied. “I’ll have her, or no- 
 body else will!” 
 
 “You never will,” returned Longstreth, stridently. 
 “So help me God I’d rather see her the ranger’s wife ; 
 than yours!” 
 
 While Lawson absorbed that shock Longstreth 
 leaned toward him, all of hate and menace in his 
 mien. 
 
 “Lawson, you made me what I am,” continued 
 Longstreth. “I backed you — shielded you. You're 
 Cheseldine — if the truth is told! Now it’s ended. 
 
 I quit you. I’m done!” / 
 
 Their gray passion-corded faces were still as stones. 
 
 “Gentlemen!” Duane called in far-reaching voice 
 as he stepped out. “You're both done!” 
 
 They wheeled to confront Duane. 
 
 “Don’t move! Not a muscle! Not a finger!” he 
 warned. 
 
 Longstreth read what Lawson had not the mind 
 to read. His face turned from gray to ashen. 
 
 “What d’ye mean?” yelled Lawson, fiercely, 
 shrilly. It was not in him to obey a command, to 
 see impending death. 
 
 All quivering and strung, yet with perfect control, 
 Duane raised his left hand to turn back a lapel of 
 his open vest. The silver star flashed brightly. 
 
 Lawson howled like a dog. With barbarous and 
 insane fury, with sheer impotent folly, he swept a 
 clawing hand for his gun. Duane’s shot broke his 
 action. 
 
 Before Lawson even tottered, before he loosed 
 the gun, Longstreth leaped behind him, clasped him 
 
 342 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 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 im- 
 pact, struck him, staggered him. The hot rend of 
 lead followed the blow. Duane’s heart seemed to 
 explode, yet his mind kept extraordinarily clear and 
 rapid. 
 
 Duane heard Longstreth work the action of Law- 
 son’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. Long- 
 streth tried to lift the dead man, to edge him closer 
 toward the table where his own gun lay. But, con- 
 sidering 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. 
 Longsfcreth’s eyes were the eyes of a man who meant 
 to kill. There v/as never any mistaking the strange 
 and terrible light of eyes like those. More than 
 once Duane had a chance to aim at them, at the top 
 of Longstreth’s head, at a strip of his side. 
 
 Longstreth flung Lawson’s body off. But even 
 as it dropped, before Longstreth could leap, as he 
 surely intended, for the gun, Duane covered him, 
 called piercingly to him: 
 
 “Don’t jump for the gun! Don’t! I’ll kill you! 
 Sure as God I’ll kill you!” 
 
 Longstreth stood perhaps ten feet from the table 
 where his gun lay. Duane saw him calculating 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 chances. He was game. He had the courage that 
 forced Duane to respect him. Duane just saw him 
 measure the distance to that gun. He was magnifi- 
 cent. He meant to do it. Duane would have to 
 kill him. 
 
 “Longstreth, listen,” cried Duane, swiftly. “The 
 game’s up. You’re done. But think of your daugh- 
 ter! I’ll spare your life — I’ll try tc get you freedom 
 on one condition. For her sake! I’ve got you 
 nailed — all the proofs. There lies Lawson. You’re 
 alone. I’ve Morton and men to my aid. Give up. 
 Surrender. Consent to demands, and I’ll spare you. 
 Maybe I can persuade MacNelly to let you go free 
 back to your old country. It’s for Ray’s sake! Her 
 life, perhaps her happiness, can be saved! Hurry, 
 man ! Your answer!” 
 
 “Suppose I refuse?” he queried, with a dark and 
 terrible earnestness. 
 
 “Then I’ll kill you in your tracks! You can’t 
 move a hand! Your word or death! Hurry, Long- 
 streth! Beaman! For her sake! Quick! Another 
 second now — I’ll kill you!” 
 
 “All right, Buck Duane, I give my word,” he 
 said, and deliberately walked to the chair and fell 
 into it. 
 
 Longstreth looked strangely at the bloody blot 
 on Duane’s shoulder. 
 
 “There come the girls!” he suddenly exclaimed. 
 “Can you help me drag Lawson inside? They 
 mustn’t see him.” 
 
 Duane was facing down the porch toward the 
 court and corrals. Miss Longstreth and Ruth had 
 come in sight, were swiftly approaching, evidently 
 
 344 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 alarmed. The two men succeeded in drawing Law« 
 son into the house before the girls saw him. 
 
 “Duane, you’re not hard hit?” said Longstreth, 
 “Reckon not,” replied Duane. 
 
 “I’m sorry. If only you could have told me 
 sooner! Lawson, damn him! Always I’ve split 
 over him!” 
 
 “But the last, time, Longstreth.” 
 
 “Yes, and I came near driving you to kill me, toe. 
 Duane, you talked me out of it. Foi Ray’s sake! 
 She’ll be in here in a minute. This ’ll be harder than 
 facing a gun.” 
 
 “Hard now. But I hope it ’ll turn out all right.” 
 “Duane, will you do me a favor?” he asked, and 
 he seemed shamefaced. 
 
 “Sure.” 
 
 “Let Ray and Ruth think Lawson shot you. He’s 
 dead. It can’t matter. Duane, the old side of my 
 life is coming back. It’s been coming. It ’ll be here 
 just about when she enters this room. And, by God, 
 I’d change places with Lawson if I could!” 
 
 “Glad you — said that, Longstreth,” replied Duane. 
 “And sure — Lawson plugged me. It’s our secret.” 
 Just then Ray and Ruth entered the room. Duane 
 heard two low cries, so different in tone, and he saw 
 two white faces. Ray came to his side. She lifted 
 a shaking hand to point at the blood upon his breast. 
 White and mute, she gazed from that to her father. 
 “Papa!” cried Ray, wringing her hands. 
 
 “Don’t give way,” he replied, huskily. “Both 
 you girls will need your nerve. Duane isn’t badly 
 hurt. But Floyd is — is dead. Listen. Let me tell 
 it quick. There’s been a fight. It — it was Lawson 
 
 345 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 — it was Lawson’s gun that shot Duane. Duane let 
 me off. In fact, Raj'-, he saved me. I’m t-o divide 
 my property — return so far as possible what I’ve 
 stolen — leave Texas at once with Duane, under ar- 
 rest. He says maybe he can get MacNelly, the 
 ranger captain, to let me go. For your sake!” 
 
 She stood there, realizing her deliverance, with 
 the dark and tragic glory of her eyes passing from 
 her father to Duane. 
 
 “You must rise above this,” said Duane to her. 
 “I expected this to ruin you. But your father is 
 alive. He will live it down. I’m sure I can promise 
 you he’ll be free. Perhaps back there in Louisiana 
 the dishonor will never be known. This country 
 is far from your old home. And even in San An- 
 tonio and Austin a man’s evil repute means little. 
 Then the line between a rustler and a rancher is 
 hard to draw in these wild border days. Rustling 
 is stealing cattle, and I once heard a well-known 
 rancher say that all rich cattlemen had done a 
 little stealing. Your father drifted out here, and, 
 like a good many others, he succeeded. It’s per- 
 haps 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 d©- 
 
 346 
 
]f HE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 veloped that way out here. He could not control 
 them. He became involved with therm And even- 
 tually 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 thins he could have bees? *ofinitely 
 worse.” 
 
 «3 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 O N the morning of the twenty-sixth Duane rode 
 into Bradford in time to catch the early train. 
 His wounds did not seriously incapacitate him. 
 Longstreth was with him. And Miss Longstreth 
 and Ruth Herbert would not be left behind. They 
 were all leaving Fairdale for ever. Longstreth had 
 turned over the whole of his property to Morton, 
 who was to divide it as he and his comrades believed 
 just. Duane had left Fairdale with his party by 
 night, passed through Sanderson in the early hours 
 of dawn, and reached Bradford as he had planned. 
 
 That, fateful morning found Duane outwardly 
 calm, but inwardly he was in a tumult. He wanted 
 to rush to Val Verde. Would Captain MacNelly 
 be there with his rangers, as Duane had planned 
 for them to be? Memory of that tawny Poggin re- 
 turned with strange passion. Duane had borne 
 hours and weeks and months of waiting, had endured 
 the long hours of the outlaw, but now he had no 
 patience. The whistle of the train made him leap. 
 It was a fast train, yet the ride seemed slow. 
 Duane, disliking to face Longstreth and the pas- 
 sengers in the car, changed his seat to one behind 
 hi? prisoner. They had seldom spoken. Longstreth 
 sat with bowed head, deep in thought. The girls 
 3at in a seat near by and were pale but composed. 
 
 348 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 Occasionally the train halted briefly at a station. 
 The latter half of that ride Duane had observed a 
 wagon-road running parallel with the railroad, some- 
 times 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 recog- 
 nized the tawny Poggin and felt a strange inward 
 contraction. He thought he recognized the clean- 
 cut Blossom Kane, the black-bearded giant Boldt, 
 the red - faced Panhandle Smith, and Fletcher. 
 There was another man strange to him. Was that 
 Knell? No! it could not have been Knell. 
 
 Duane leaned over the seat and touched Long- 
 streth on the shoulder. 
 
 “Look!” he whispered. Cheseldine was stiff. He 
 had already seen. 
 
 The train flashed by; the outlaw gang receded 
 out of range of sight. 
 
 “Did you notice Knell wasn’t with them?” whis- 
 pered Duane. 
 
 Duane did not speak to Longstreth again till the 
 
 train stopped at Val Verde. 
 
 They got off the car, and the girls followed as 
 naturally as ordinary travelers. The station was 
 a good deal larger than that at Bradford, and there 
 was considerable action and bustle incident to the 
 arrival of the train. 
 
 Duane’s sweeping gaze searched faces, rested upon 
 a man who seemed familiar. This fellow’s look, too, 
 was that of one who knew Duane, but was waiting 
 for a sign, a cue. Then Duane recognized him — 
 
 349 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 MacNelly, clean-shaven. Without mustache he ap- 
 peared different, younger. 
 
 When MacNelly saw that Duane intended to 
 greet him, to meet him, he hurried forward. A keen 
 light flashed from his eyes. He was glad, eager, yet 
 suppressing himself, and the glances he sent back 
 and forth from Duane to Longstreth were question- 
 ing, doubtful. Certainly Longstreth did not look 
 the part of an outlaw. 
 
 “Duane? Lord, I’m glad to see you,” was the 
 Captain’s greeting. Then at closer look into Duane’s 
 face his warmth fled — something he saw there 
 checked his enthusiasm, or at least its utterance. 
 
 “MacNelly, shake hands with Cheseldine,” said 
 Duane, low-voiced. 
 
 The ranger captain stood dumb, motionless. But 
 he saw Longstreth’s instant action, and awkwardly 
 he reached for the outstretched hand. 
 
 “Any of your men down here?” queried Duane, 
 sharply. 
 
 “No. They’re up-town.” 
 
 “Come. MacNelly, you walk with him. We’ve 
 ladies in the party. I’ll come behind with them.” 
 
 They set off up-town. Longstreth walked as if 
 he were with friends on the way to dinner. The 
 girls were mute. MacNelly walked like a man in 
 a trance. There was not a word spoken in four 
 blocks. 
 
 Presently Duane espied a stone building on a cor- 
 ner of the broad street. There was a big sign, 
 “Rancher’s Bank.” 
 
 “There's the hotel,” said MacNelly. “Some of 
 my men are there. We’ve scattered around.” 
 
 35 ° 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 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 Cap- 
 tain complied. When they were all inside Duane 
 closed the door, and, drawing a deep breath as if of 
 relief, he faced them calmly. 
 
 “Miss Longstreth, you and Miss Ruth try to 
 make yourselves comfortable now,” he said. “And 
 don’t be distressed.” Then he turned to his cap- 
 tain. “MacNelly, this girl is the daughter of the 
 man I’ve brought to you, and this one is his niece.” 
 
 Then Duane briefly related Longstreth’s story, 
 and, though he did not spare the rustler chief, he was 
 generous. 
 
 “When I went after Longstreth,” concluded 
 Duane, “it was either to kill him or offer him freedom 
 on conditions. So I chose the latter for his daughter’s 
 sake. He has already disposed of all his property. 
 I believe he’ll live up to the conditions. He’s to 
 leave Texas never to return. The name Cbeseldine 
 has been a mystery, and now it ’ll fade,” 
 
 A few moments later Duane followed MacNelly 
 to a large room, like a hall, and here were men read- 
 ing and smoking. Duane knew them — rangers’ 
 
 MacNelly beckoned to his men. 
 
 “Boys, here he is.” 
 
 “How many men have you?” asked Duane. 
 
 “Fifteen.” 
 
 MacNelly almost embraced Duane, would prob- 
 ably 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 
 
 35i 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 hands. He was beside himself. And his rangers 
 crowded closer, eager, like hounds ready to run. 
 They all talked at once, and the word most signifi- 
 cant and frequent in their speech was “outlaws.” 
 MacNelly clapped his fist in his hand 
 “This ’ll make the adjutant sick with joy. May- 
 be we won’t have it on the Governor! We’ll show 
 them about the ranger service. Duane! how’d you 
 ever do it?” 
 
 “Now, Captain, not the half nor the quarter of 
 this job’s done. The gang’s coming down the road. 
 I saw them from the train. They’ll ride into town 
 on the dot — two- thirty.” 
 
 “How many?” asked MacNelly. 
 
 “Poggin, Blossom Kane, Panhandle Smith, Boldt, 
 Jim Fletcher, and another man I don’t know. These 
 are the picked men of Cheseldine’s gang. I’ll bet 
 they’ll be the fastest, hardest bunch you rangers 
 ever faced.” 
 
 ‘ ‘ Poggin — that’s the hard nut to crack ! I’ve heard 
 their records since I’ve been in Val Verde. Where’s 
 Knell? They say he’s a boy, but hell and blazes!” 
 “Knell’s dead.” 
 
 “Ah!” exclaimed MacNelly, softly. Then he grew 
 business-like, cool, and of harder aspect. “Duane, 
 it’s your game to-day. I’m only a ranger under or- 
 ders. We’re all under your orders. We’ve absolute 
 faith in you. Make your plan quick, so I can go 
 round and post the boys who ’re not here.” 
 
 “You understand there’s no sense in trying to 
 arrest Poggin, Kane, and that lot?” queried Duane. 
 
 “No, I don’t understand that,” replied MacNelly, 
 bluntly. 
 
 352 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “It can’t be done. The drop can’t be got on such 
 men. If you meet them they shoot, and mighty 
 quick and straight. Poggin! That outlaw has no 
 equal with a gun — unless — He’s got to be killed 
 quick. They’ll all have to be killed. They’re all 
 bad, desperate, know no fear, are lightning in ac- 
 tion.” 
 
 “Very well, Duane; then it’s a fight. That ’ll be 
 easier, perhaps. The boys are spoiling for a fight. 
 Out with your plan, now.” 
 
 “Put one man at each end of this street, just at 
 the edge of town. Let him hide there with a rifle 
 to block the escape of any outlaw that we might fail 
 to get. I had a good look at the bank building. It’s 
 well situated for our purpose. Put four men up in 
 that room over the bank — four men, two at each 
 open window. Let them hide till the game begins. 
 They want to be there so in case these foxy outlaws 
 get wise before they’re down on the ground or inside 
 the bank. The rest of your men put inside behind 
 the counters, where they’ll hide. Now go over to 
 the bank, spring the thing on the bank officials, 
 and don’t let them shut up the bank. You want 
 their aid. Let them make sure of their gold. But 
 the clerks and cashier ought to be at their desks or 
 window when Poggin rides up. Pie’ll glance in be- 
 fore he gets down. They make no mistakes, these 
 fellows. We must be slicker than they are, or lose. 
 When you get the bank people wise, send your men 
 over one by one. No hurry, no excitement, no un- 
 usual thing to attract notice in the bank.” 
 
 “All right. That’s great. Tell me, where do you 
 intend to wait?” 
 
 353 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 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 be- 
 came thoughtful, with lowered head. 
 
 “Where ’ll you wait, Duane?” insisted MacNelly, 
 with keen eyes speculating. 
 
 “I’ll wait in front — just inside the door,” replied 
 Duane, with an effort. 
 
 “Why?” demanded the Captain. 
 
 “Well,” began Duane, slowly, “Poggin will get 
 down first and start in. But the others won’t be 
 far behind. They’ll not get swift till inside. The 
 thing is — they mustn't get clear inside, because the 
 instant they do they’ll pull guns. That means 
 death to somebody. If we can we want to stop 
 them just at the door.” 
 
 “But will you hide?” asked MacNelly. 
 
 “Hide!” The idea had not occurred to Duane. 
 
 “There’s a wide-open doorway, a sort of round 
 hall, a vestibule, with steps leading up to the bank. 
 There’s a door in the vestibule, too. It leads some- 
 where. We can put men in there. You can be 
 there.” 
 
 Duane was silent. 
 
 “See here, Duane,” began MacNelly, nervously. 
 “You sha’n’t take any undue risk here. You’ll hide 
 with the rest of us?” 
 
 “No!” The word was wrenched from Duane. 
 
 MacNelly stared, and then a strange, comprehend- 
 ing light seemed to flit over his face. 
 
 “Duane, I can give you no orders to-day,” he 
 said, distinctly. “I’m only offering advice. Need 
 354 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 you take any more risks? You’ve done a grand 
 job for the service — already. You’ve paid me a 
 thousand times for that pardon. You’ve redeemed 
 yourself. The Governor, the adjutant - general — 
 the whole state will rise up and honor you. The 
 game’s almost up. We’ll kill these outlaws, or 
 enough of them to break for ever their power. I 
 say, as a ranger, need you take more risk than your 
 captain?” 
 
 Still Duane remained silent. He was locked be- 
 tween two forces. And one, a tide that was bursting 
 at its bounds, seemed about to overwhelm him. 
 Finally that side of him, the retreating self, the 
 weaker, found a voice. 
 
 “Captain, you want this job to be sure?” he asked. 
 
 “Certainly.” 
 
 “I’ve told you the way. I alone know the land 
 of men to be met. Just what I’ll do or where I’ll be 
 I can’t say yet. In meetings like this the moment 
 decides. But I’ll be there!” 
 
 MacNelly spread wide his hands, looked help- 
 lessly at his curious and sympathetic rangers, and 
 shook his head. 
 
 “Now you’ve done your work — laid the trap — 
 is this strange move of yours going to be fair to 
 Miss Longstreth?” asked MacNelly, in significant 
 low voice. 
 
 Like a great tree chopped at the roots Duane 
 vibrated to that. He looked up as if he had seen a 
 ghost. 
 
 Mercilessly the ranger captain went on: “You 
 can win her, Duane! Oh, you can’t fool me. I was 
 wise in a minute. Fight with us from cover — then 
 
 355 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 go back to her. You will have served the Texas 
 Rangers as no other man has. I’ll accept your 
 resignation. You’ll be free, honored, happy. That 
 girl loves you! I saw it in her eyes. She’s — ” 
 
 But Duane cut him short with a fierce gesture. 
 He lunged up to his feet, and the rangers fell 
 back. Dark, silent, grim as he had been, still 
 there was a transformation singularly more sinister, 
 stranger. 
 
 “Enough. I’m done,” he said, somberly. “I’ve 
 planned. Do we agree — or shall I meet Poggin and 
 his gang alone?” 
 
 MacNelly cursed and again threw up his hands, 
 this time in baffled chagrin. There was deep regret 
 in his dark eyes as they rested upon Duane. 
 
 Duane was left alone. 
 
 Never had his mind been so quick, so clear, so 
 wonderful in its understanding of what had hereto- 
 fore been intricate and elusive impulses of his strange 
 nature. His determination was to meet Poggin; 
 meet him before any one else had a chance — Poggin 
 first — and then the others! lie was as unalterable 
 in that decision as if on the instant of its acceptance 
 he had become stone. 
 
 Why? Then came realization. He was not a 
 ranger now. He cared nothing for the state. He 
 had no thought of freeing the community of a dan- 
 gerous outlaw, of ridding the country of an obstacle 
 to its progress and prosperity, tie wanted to kill 
 Poggin. It was significant now that he forgot the 
 other outlaws. He was the gunman, the gun- 
 thrower, the gun - fighter, passionate and terrible. 
 His father’s blood, that dark and fierce strain, his 
 
 356 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 mother’s spirit, that strong and unquenchable spirit 
 of the surviving pioneer — these had been in him; 
 and the killings, one after another, the wild and 
 haunted years, had made him, absolutely in spite 
 of his will, the gunman. He realized it now, bit- 
 terly, hopelessly. The thing he had intelligence 
 enough to hate he had become. At last he shud- 
 dered under the driving, ruthless, inhuman blood-lust 
 of the gunman. Long ago he had seemed to seal in 
 a tomb that horror of his kind — the need, in order 
 to forget the haunting, sleepless presence of his last; 
 victim, to go out and kill another. But it was still 
 there in his mind, and now it stalked out, worse, 
 more powerful, magnified by its rest, augmented 
 by the violent passions peculiar and inevitable to 
 that strange, wild product of the Texas frontier — 
 the gun-fighter. And those passions were so violent, 
 so raw, so base, so much lower than what ought to 
 have existed in a thinking man. Actual pride of 
 his record! Actual vanity in his speed with a gun! 
 Actual jealousy of any rival! 
 
 Duane could not believe it. But there he was, 
 without a choice. What he had feared for years 
 had become a monstrous reality. Respect for him- 
 self, blindness, a certain honor that he had clung to 
 while in outlawry — all, like scales, seemed to fall 
 away from him. He stood stripped bare, his soul 
 naked — the soul of Cain. Always since the first 
 brand had been forced and burned upon him he had 
 been ruined. But now with conscience flayed to 
 the quick, yet utterly powerless over this tiger in- 
 stinct, he was lost. He said it. He admitted it. 
 And at the utter abasement the soul he despised 
 
 357 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 suddenly leaped and quivered with the thought of 
 
 Ray Longstreth. 
 
 Then came agony. As he could not govern all 
 the chances of this fatal meeting — as all his swift 
 and deadly genius must be occupied with Poggin, 
 perhaps in vain — as hard-shooting men whom he 
 could not watch would be close behind, this almost 
 certainly must be the end of Buck Duane. That 
 did not matter. But he loved the girl. He wanted 
 her. All her sweetness, her fire, and pleading re- 
 turned to torture him. 
 
 At that moment the door opened, and Ray Long- 
 streth entered. 
 
 “Duane,” she said, softly. “Captain MacNelly 
 sent me to you.” 
 
 “But you shouldn’t have come,” replied Duane. 
 
 “As soon as he told me I would have come whether 
 he wished it or not. You left me — all of us — stunned. 
 I had no time to thank you. Oh, I do — with all 
 my soul; It was noble of you. Father is overcome. 
 He didn’t expect so much. And he’ll be true. But, 
 Duane, I was told to huny, and here I’m selfishly 
 using time.” 
 
 “Go, then — and leave me. You mustn’t unnerve 
 me now, when there’s a desperate game to finish.” 
 
 “Need it be desperate?” she whispered, coming 
 close to him. 
 
 “Yes; it can’t be else.” 
 
 MacNelly had sent her to weaken him; of that 
 Duane was sure. And he felt that she had wanted 
 to come. Her eyes were dark, strained, beautiful, 
 and they shed a light upon Duane he had neve? 
 
 seen before,. 
 
 35 8 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “You’re going to take some mad risk," she said. 
 “Let me persuade you not to. You said — you cared 
 for me — and I — oh. Duane — don’t you — know — ?” 
 
 The low voice, deep, sweet as an old chord, fal- 
 tered and broke and failed. 
 
 Duane sustained a sudden shock and aa instant 
 of paralyzed confusion of thought. 
 
 She moved, she swept out her hands, and the 
 wonder of her eyes dimmed in a flood of tears. 
 
 “My God! You can’t care for me?” he cried, 
 hoarsely. 
 
 Then she met him, hands outstretched. 
 
 “But I do— I do!" 
 
 Swift as light Duane caught her and held her te» 
 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 intoxi- 
 cating 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 mep, 
 a fugitive whose mind slowly and inevitably closed 
 to all except the instinct to survive and a black 
 
 £50 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 despair; and now, with this woman in his arms, her 
 swelling breast against his, in this moment almost of 
 resurrection, he bent under the storm of passion 
 and joy possible only to him who had endured so 
 much. 
 
 “Do you care — a little?” he whispered, unsteadily. 
 
 He bent over her, looking deep into the dark wet 
 eyes. 
 
 She uttered a low laugh that was half sob, and her 
 arms slipped up to his neck. 
 
 “A little! Oh, Duane — Duane — a great deal!” 
 
 Their lips met in their first kiss. The sweetness, 
 the fire of her mouth seemed so new, so strange, so 
 irresistible to Duane. His sore and hungry heart 
 throbbed with thick and heavy beats. Pie felt the 
 outcast’s need of love. And he gave up to the en- 
 thralling moment. She met him half-way, returned 
 kiss for kiss, clasp for clasp, her face scarlet, her eyes 
 closed, till, her passion and strength spent, she fell 
 back upon his shoulder. 
 
 Duane suddenly thought she was going to faint. 
 He divined then that she had understood him, 
 would have denied him nothing, not even her life, 
 in that moment. But she was overcome, and hs 
 suffered a pang of regret at his unrestraint. 
 
 Presently she recovered, and she drew only the 
 closer, and leaned upon him with her face upturned. 
 He felt her hands on his, and they were soft, cling- 
 ing, strong, like steel under velvet. Pie felt the rise 
 and fall, the warmth of her breast. A tremor ran 
 over him. He tried to draw back, and if he suc- 
 ceeded a little her form swayed with him, pressing 
 closer. She held her face up, and he was compelled 
 
 360 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 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, unquench- 
 able spirit, woman’s resolve deep and mighty. 
 
 “I love you, Duane!” she said. ‘‘For my sake 
 don’t go out to meet this outlaw face to face. It’s 
 something wild in you. Conquer it if you love me.” 
 
 Duane became suddenly weak, and when he did 
 take her into his arms again he scarcely had strength 
 to lift her to a seat beside him. She seemed more 
 than a dead weight. Her calmness had fled. She 
 was throbbing, palpitating, quivering, with hot wet 
 cheeks and arms that clung to him like vines. She 
 lifted her mouth to him, whispering, “Kiss me!” 
 She meant to change him, hold him. 
 
 Duane bent down, and her arms went round his 
 neck and drew him close. With his lips on hers he 
 seemed to float away. That kiss closed his eyes, 
 and he could not lift his head. He sat motionless, 
 holding her, blind and helpless, wrapped in a sweet 
 dark glory. She kissed him — one long endless kiss — 
 or else a thousand times. Her lips, her wet cheeks, 
 her hair, the softness, the fragrance of her, the ten- 
 der clasp of her arms, the swell of her breast — all 
 these seemed to inclose him. 
 
 Duane could not put her from him. He yielded 
 to her lips and arms, watching her, involuntarily 
 returning her caresses, sure now of her intent, fas- 
 cinated by the sweetness of her, bewildered, almost 
 lost. This was what it was to be loved by a woman. 
 His years of outlawry had blotted out any boyish 
 love he might have known. This was what he had 
 to give up — all this wonder of her sweet person, this 
 
 361 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 strange fire he feared yet loved, this mate his deep 
 and tortured soul recognized Never until that 
 moment had he divined the meaning of a woman 
 to a man. That meaning was physical inasmuch 
 that he learned what beauty was, what marvel in 
 the touch of quickening flesh; and it was spiritual 
 in that he saw there might have been for him, under 
 happier circumstances, a life of noble deeds lived 
 for such a woman. 
 
 “Don’t go! Don’t go!” she cried, as he started 
 violently. 
 
 “I must. Dear, good-by. Remember I loved 
 
 you!” 
 
 He pulled her hands loose from his, stepped back. 
 
 “Ray, dearest — I believe — I’ll come back!” he 
 
 whispered. 
 
 These last words were falsehood. 
 
 He reached the door, gave her one last piercing 
 glance, to fix for ever in memory that white face 
 with its dark, staring, tragic eyes. 
 
 “Duane!" 
 
 He fled with that moan like thunder, death, hell 
 in his ears. 
 
 To forget her, to get back his nerve, he forced 
 into mind the image of Poggin — Poggin, the tawny- 
 haired, the yellow-eyed, like a jaguar, with his 
 rippling muscles. He brought back his sense of 
 the outlaw’s wonderful presence, his own unac- 
 countable fear and hate. Yes, Poggin had sent the 
 cold sickness of fear to his marrow. Why, since hb 
 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 
 
 362 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 and fatal issue. There was a horrible thrill in his 
 sudden remembrance that Poggin likewise had been 
 taunted in fear of him. 
 
 So the dark tide overwhelmed Duane, and when 
 he left the room he was fierce, implacable, steeled 
 to any outcome, quick like a panther, somber as 
 death, in the thrall of his strange passion. 
 
 There was no excitement in the street. He crossed 
 to the bank corner. A clock, inside pointed the hour 
 of two. He went through the door into the vesti- 
 bule, looked around, passed up the steps into the 
 bank. The clerks were at their desks, apparently 
 busy. But they showed nervousness. The cashier 
 paled at sight of Duane. There were men — the 
 rangers — crouching down behind the low partition. 
 All the windows had been removed from the iron 
 grating before the desks. The safe was closed. There 
 was no money in sight. A customer came in, spoke 
 to the cashier, and was told to come to-morrow. 
 
 Duane returned to the door. He could see far 
 down tire street, out into the country. There he 
 waited, and minutes were eternities. He saw no 
 person near him; he heard no sound. He was in- 
 sulated in his unnatural strain. 
 
 At a few minutes before half past two a dark, com- 
 pact body of horsemen appeared far down, turning 
 into the road. They came at a sharp trot — a group 
 that w r ould have attracted attention anywhere at 
 any time. They came a little faster as they entered 
 town; then faster still; now they were four blocks 
 away, now three, now two. Duane backed down 
 the middle of the vestibule, up the steps, and halted 
 in the center of the wide doorway. 
 
 363 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 There seemed to be a rushing in his ears through 
 which pierced sharp, ringing clip-clop of iron hoofs. 
 He could see only the corner of the street. But 
 suddenly into that shot lean-limbed dusty bay 
 horses. There was a clattering of nervous hoofs 
 pulled to a halt. 
 
 Duane saw the tawny Poggin speak to his com- 
 panions. tie dismounted quickly. They followed 
 suit. They had the manner of ranchers about to 
 conduct some business. No guns showed. Poggin 
 started leisurely for the bank door, quickening step 
 a little. The others, close together, came behind 
 him. Blossom Kane had a bag in his left hand. 
 Jim Fletcher was left at the curb, and he had already 
 gathered up the bridles. 
 
 Poggin entered the vestibule first, with Kane on 
 one side, Boldt on the other, a little in his rear. 
 
 As he strode in he saw Duane. 
 
 “Hell’s Fire!” he cried. 
 
 Something inside Duane burst, piercing all of him 
 with cold. Was it that fear? 
 
 "Buck Duane!” echoed Kane. 
 
 One instant Poggin looked up and Duane looked 
 down. 
 
 Like a striking jaguar Poggin moved. Almost as 
 quickly Duane threw his aim. 
 
 The guns boomed almost together. 
 
 Duane felt a blow just before he pulled trigger. 
 His thoughts came fast, like the strange dots be- 
 fore his eyes. His rising gun had loosened in his 
 hand. Poggin had drawn quicker ! A tearing agony 
 encompassed his breast. He pulled — pulled — at 
 random. Thunder of booming shots all abcmt him ’ 
 
 364 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 Red flashes, jets of smoke, shrill yells! He was 
 sinking. The end ; yes, the end ! With fading sight 
 he saw Kane go dov/n, then Boldt. But supreme 
 torture, bitterer than death, Poggin stood, mane 
 like a lion’s, back to the wall, bloody-faced, grand,- 
 with his guns spouting red ! 
 
 All faded, darkened. The thunder deadened. 
 Duane fell, seemed floating. There it drifted — Ray 
 Longstreth’s sweet face, white, with dark, tragic 
 eyes, fading from his sight . . . fading . . . fading . . . 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 L IGHT shone before Duane’s eyes — thick, strange 
 light that came and went. For a long time 
 dull and booming sounds rushed by, filling all. It 
 was a dream in which there was nothing; a drifting 
 under a burden; darkness, light, sound, movement; 
 and vague, obscure sense of time — time that was 
 very long. There was fire — creeping, consuming fire. 
 A dark cloud of flame enveloped him, rolled him 
 away. 
 
 He saw then, dimly, a room that was strange, 
 strange people moving about over him, with faint 
 voices, far away, things in a dream. He saw again, 
 clearly, and consciousness returned, still unreal, still 
 , strange, full of those vague and far-away things. 
 Then he was not dead. He lay stiff, like a stone, 
 with a weight ponderous as a mountain upon him 
 and all his bound body racked in slow, dull-beating 
 agony. 
 
 A woman’s face hovered over him, white and 
 tragic-eyed, like one of his old haunting phantoms, 
 yet sweet and eloquent. Then a man’s face bent 
 over him, looked deep into his eyes, and seemed 
 to whisper from a distance: “Duane — Duane! Ah, 
 he knew me!” 
 
 After that there was another long interval of 
 darkness. When the light came again, clearer this 
 
 ‘366 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 time, the same earnest-faced man bent over him. 
 It was MacNelly. And with recognition the past 
 flooded back. 
 
 Duane tried to speak. His lips were weak, and 
 he could scarcely move them. 
 
 “Poggin!” he whispered. His first real conscious 
 thought was for Poggin. Ruling passion — eternal 
 instinct ! 
 
 “Poggin is dead, Duane; shot to pieces,” replied 
 MacNelly, solemnly. “What a fight he made! Pie 
 killed two of my men, wounded others. God! he 
 was a tiger. He used up three guns before we downed 
 
 him.” 
 
 ' ‘ Who — got — away ? ’ ’ 
 
 “Fletcher, the man with the horses. We downed 
 all the others. Duane, the job’s done — it’s done! 
 Why, man, you’re — ” 
 
 “What of— of —her?” 
 
 “Miss Longstreth has been almost constantly at 
 your bedside. She helped the doctor. She watched 
 your wounds. And, Duane, the other night, when 
 you sank low — so low — I think it was her spirit 
 that held yours back. Oh, she’s a wonderful girl. 
 Duane, she never gave up, never lost her nerve 
 for a moment. Well, we’re going to take you 
 home, and she’ll go with us. Colonel Longstreth 
 left for Louisiana right after the fight. I advised it. 
 There was great excitement. It was best for him 
 to leave.” 
 
 “Have I — a — chance — to recover?” 
 
 “Chanee? Why, man,” exclaimed the Captain, 
 “you’ll get well! You’ll pack a sight of lead all 
 your Mfe. But you can stand that. Duane, the 
 
 367 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 whole Southwest knows your story. You need 
 never again be ashamed of the name Bock Duane. 
 The brand outlaw is washed out. Texas believes 
 you’ve been a secret ranger ail the time. You’re a 
 hero. And now think of home, your mother, of 
 this noble girl — of your future.” 
 
 The rangers took Duane home to Wellston. 
 
 A railroad had been built since Duane had gone 
 into exile. Wellston had grown. A noisy crowd 
 surrounded the station, but it stilled as Duane was 
 carried from the train. 
 
 A sea of faces pressed close. Some were faces he 
 remembered — schoolmates, friends, old neighbors. 
 There was an upflinging of many hands. Duane was 
 being welcomed home to the town from which he 
 had fled. A deadness within him broke. This wel- 
 come hurt him somehow, quickened him; and 
 through his cold being, his weary mind, passed a 
 change. His sight dimmed. 
 
 Then there was a white house, his old home. 
 How strange, yet how real! His heart beat fast. 
 Had so many, many years passed? Familiar yet 
 strange it was, and all seemed magnified. 
 
 They carried him in, these ranger comrades, and 
 laid him down, and lifted his head upon pillow r s. 
 The house was still, though full of people. Duane’s 
 gaze sought the open door. 
 
 Some one entered — a tall girl in white, with dark, 
 wet eyes and a light upon her face. She was leading an 
 old lady, gray-haired, austere-faced, somber and sad. 
 His mother! She was feeble, but she walked erect. 
 .She was pale, shaking, yet maintained her dignity. 
 
 '368 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 The some one in white uttered a low cry and knelt 
 by Duane’s bed. His mother flung wide her arms 
 with a strange gesture. 
 
 “This man! They’ve not brought back my boy. 
 This man’s his father! Where is my son? My 
 son — oh, my son!” 
 
 When Duane grew stronger it was a pleasure to 
 lie by the west window and watch Uncle Jim whittle 
 his stick and listen to his talk. The old man was 
 broken now. He told many interesting things about 
 people Duane had known — people who had grown 
 up and married, failed, succeeded, gone away, and 
 died. But it was hard to keep Uncle Jim off the 
 subject of guns, outlaws, fights. He could not seem 
 to divine how mention of these things hurt Duane. 
 Uncle Jim was childish now, and he had a great 
 pride in his nephew. He wanted to hear of all of 
 Duane’s exile. And if there was one thing more 
 than another that pleased him it was to talk about 
 the bullets which Duane carried in his body. 
 
 “Five bullets, ain’t it?” he asked, for the hun- 
 dredth time. “Five in that last scrap! By gum! 
 And you had six before?” 
 
 “Yes, uncle,” replied Duane. 
 
 “Five and six. That makes eleven. By gum! A 
 man’s a man, to carry all that lead. But, Buck, 
 you could carry more. There's that nigger Edwards, 
 right here in Wellston. He’s got a ton of bullets in 
 him. Doesn’t seem to mind them none. And there’s 
 Cole Miller. I’ve seen him. Been a bad man in 
 his day. They say he packs twenty-three bullets. 
 But he’s bigger than you — got more flesh. . . . 
 
 369 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 P'unny, wasn’t it, Buck, about the doctor only bein' 
 able to cut one bullet out of you — that one in your 
 breast-bone ? It was a forty-one caliber, an unusual 
 cartridge. I saw it, and I wanted it, but Mis6 Long- 
 streth 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, i t ’d have killed you if it ’d stayed there.” 
 
 “It would indeed, uncle,” replied Duane, and the 
 old, haunting, somber mood returned. 
 
 But Duane was not often at the mercy of childish 
 old hero-worshiping Uncle Jim. Miss Longstreth 
 was the only person who seemed to divine Duane’s 
 gloomy mood, and when she was with him she warded 
 off all suggestion. 
 
 One afternoon, while she was there at the west 
 window, a message came for him. They read it 
 together. 
 
 You have saved the ranger service to the Lone Star State. 
 
 MacNeixy. 
 
 Ray knelt beside him at the window, and he be- 
 lieved she meant to speak then of the thing they 
 had shunned. Her face was still white, but sweeter 
 now, warm with rich life beneath the marble; and 
 her dark eyes were still intent, still haunted by 
 shadows, but no longer tragic. 
 
 “I’m glad for MacNelly’s sake as well as the 
 state’s,” said Duane. 
 
 She made no reply to that and seemed to be think- 
 ing deeply. Duane shrank a little. 
 
 “The pain — Is it any worse to-day?” she asked, 
 instantly. 
 
 37o 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “No; it’s the same. It will always be the same. 
 I’m full of lead, you know. But I don’t mind a 
 little pain.” 
 
 “Then — it’s the old mood — the fear?” she 
 whispered. “Tell me.” 
 
 “Yes. It haunts me. I’ll be well soon — able to 
 go out. Then that — that hell will come back!” 
 
 “No, no!” she said, with emotion. 
 
 “Some drunken cowboy, some fool with a gun, 
 will hunt me out in every town, wherever I go,” 
 he went on, miserably. “Buck Duane! To kill 
 Buck Duane!” 
 
 “Hush! Don’t speak so. Listen. You re- 
 member that day in Val Verde, when I came to 
 you — plead with you not to meet Poggin? Oh, 
 that was a terrible hour for me. But it showed me 
 the truth. I saw the struggle between your passion 
 to kill and your love for me. I could have saved 
 you then had I known what I know now. Now I 
 understand that — that thing which haunts you. 
 But you’ll never have to draw again. You’ll never 
 have to kill another man, thank God!” 
 
 Like a drowning man he would have grasped at 
 straws, but he could not voice his passionate query. 
 
 She put tender arms round his neck. “Because 
 you’ll have me with you always,” she replied. 
 “Because always I shall be between you and that — 
 that terrible thing.” 
 
 It seemed with the spoken thought absolute as- 
 surance of her power came to her. Duane realized 
 instantly that he was in the arms of a stronger 
 woman than she who had plead with him that fatal 
 day. 
 
 37i 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 “We’ll — we’ll be married and leave Texas,” she 
 said, softly, with the red blood rising rich and dark 
 in her cheeks. 
 
 “Ray!” 
 
 “Yes we will, though you’re laggard in asking me, 
 sir.” 
 
 “But, dear — suppose,” he replied, huskily, “sup- 
 pose there might be — be children — a boy. A boy 
 with his father’s blood!” 
 
 “I pray God there will be. I do not fear what you 
 fear. But even so — he’ll be half my blood.” 
 
 Duane felt the storm rise and break in him. And 
 his terror was that of joy quelling fear. The shin- 
 ing glory of love in this woman’s eyes made him 
 weak as a child. How could she love him — how 
 could she so bravely face a future with him? Yet 
 she held him in her arms, twining her hands round 
 his neck, and pressing close to him. Her faith and 
 love and beauty — these she meant to throw be- 
 tween him and all that terrible past. They were 
 her power, and she meant to use them all. He dared 
 not think of accepting her sacrifice. 
 
 “But Ray — you dear, noble girl — I’m poor. I 
 have nothing. And I’m a cripple.” 
 
 “Oh, you’ll be well some day,” she replied. “And 
 listen. I have money. My mother left me well off. 
 All she had was her father’s — Do you under- 
 stand? We’ll take Uncle Jim and your mother. 
 We’ll go to Louisiana — to my old home. It’s far 
 from here. There’s a plantation to work. There 
 are horses and cattle — a great cypress forest to cut. 
 Oh, you’ll have much to do. You’ll forget there. 
 You’ll learn to love my home. It’s a beautiful old 
 
 372 
 
THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 place. There are groves where the gray moss blows 
 all day and the nightingales sing all night.” 
 
 “My darling!” cried Duane, brokenly. “No, no. 
 no!” 
 
 Yet he knew in his heart that he was yielding to 
 her, that he could not resist her a moment longer. 
 What was this madness of love? 
 
 “We’ll be happy,” she whispered. “Oh, I know. 
 Come ! — come ! — come !” 
 
 Her eyes were closing, heavy-lidded, and she 
 lifted sweet, tremulous, waiting lips. 
 
 With bursting heart Duane bent to them. Then 
 he held her, close pressed to him, while with dim 
 eyes he looked out over the line of low hills in the 
 west, down where the sun was setting gold and red, 
 down over the Nueces and the wild brakes of the 
 Rio Grande which he was never to see again. 
 
 It was in this solemn and exalted moment that 
 Duane accepted happiness and faced new life, trust- 
 ing this brave and tender woman to be stronger 
 than the dark and fateful passion that had shad- 
 owed his past. 
 
 It would come back — that wind of flame, that 
 madness to forget, that driving, relentless instinct for 
 blood. It would come back with those pale, drifting, 
 haunting faces and the accusing fading eyes, but 
 all his life, always between them and him, rendering 
 them powerless, would be the faith and love and 
 beauty of this noble woman. 
 
 THE END 
 

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 DESERT GOLD 
 
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 TH E LAST OF THE PLAINSMEN 
 
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 THE HERITAGE OF THE DESER T 
 
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 BETTY ZANE 
 
 This story tells of the bravery and heroism of Betty, the beautiful young sister ol 
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 THE LONE STAR RANGER 
 
 After killing a man in seif defense, Buck Duane becomes an outlaw along the 
 Texas border. In a camp on the Mexican side of the river, he finds a young girl held 
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 THE BORDER LEGION 
 
 Joan Randle, in a spirit of anger, sent Jim Cleve out to a lawless Western mining 
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 THE TRAIL OF THE LONESOME PINE . 
 
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 THE LITTLE SHEPHERD OF KINGDOM COME 
 illustrated by F„ C. Yohn. 
 
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 A KNIGHT OF THE CUMBERLAND. , 
 
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 a large part jealousy and pistols have in the love making of the, 
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 JOHN BARLEYCORN. Illustrated by H. T. Dunn. 
 
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 BU RNING DAYLIGHT. Four illustrations. 
 
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 THE SEA WOL F. Illustrated by W. J. Aylward. 
 
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 WHITE FANG. Illustrated by Charles Livingston Bull. 
 
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NOVELS OF FRONTIER LIFE BY 
 
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 MAVERICKS 
 
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 A TEXAS RANGER 
 
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 RIDGWAY OF MONTANA 
 
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 BUCKY O’CONNER 
 
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 CROOKED TRAILS AND STRAIGHT 
 
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 STEVE YEAGER 
 
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 THE YUKON TRAJT, 
 
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 THE SHERIFFS SON 
 
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