The Lone Star Ranger: A Romance of the Border, Zane Grey [free ebook reader for iphone .txt] 📗

Shirley appeared to be a large, pretentious country town. A branch of some railroad terminated there. The main street was wide, bordered by trees and commodious houses, and many of the stores were of brick. A large plaza shaded by giant cottonwood trees occupied a central location.

Duane pulled his running horse and halted him, plunging and snorting, before a group of idle men who lounged on benches in the shade of a spreading cottonwood. How many times had Duane seen just that kind of lazy shirt-sleeved Texas group! Not often, however, had he seen such placid, lolling, good-natured men change their expression, their attitude so swiftly. His advent apparently was momentous. They evidently took him for an unusual visitor. So far as Duane could tell, not one of them recognized him, had a hint of his identity.

He slid off his horse and threw the bridle.

“I'm Buck Duane,” he said. “I saw that placard—out there on a sign-post. It's a damn lie! Somebody find this man Jeff Aiken. I want to see him.”

His announcement was taken in absolute silence. That was the only effect he noted, for he avoided looking at these villagers. The reason was simple enough; Duane felt himself overcome with emotion. There were tears in his eyes. He sat down on a bench, put his elbows on his knees and his hands to his face. For once he had absolutely no concern for his fate. This ignominy was the last straw.

Presently, however, he became aware of some kind of commotion among these villagers. He heard whisperings, low, hoarse voices, then the shuffle of rapid feet moving away. All at once a violent hand jerked his gun from its holster. When Duane rose a gaunt man, livid of face, shaking like a leaf, confronted him with his own gun.

“Hands up, thar, you Buck Duane!” he roared, waving the gun.

That appeared to be the cue for pandemonium to break loose. Duane opened his lips to speak, but if he had yelled at the top of his lungs he could not have made himself heard. In weary disgust he looked at the gaunt man, and then at the others, who were working themselves into a frenzy. He made no move, however, to hold up his hands. The villagers surrounded him, emboldened by finding him now unarmed. Then several men lay hold of his arms and pinioned them behind his back. Resistance was useless even if Duane had had the spirit. Some one of them fetched his halter from his saddle, and with this they bound him helpless.

People were running now from the street, the stores, the houses. Old men, cowboys, clerks, boys, ranchers came on the trot. The crowd grew. The increasing clamor began to attract women as well as men. A group of girls ran up, then hung back in fright and pity.

The presence of cowboys made a difference. They split up the crowd, got to Duane, and lay hold of him with rough, businesslike hands. One of them lifted his fists and roared at the frenzied mob to fall back, to stop the racket. He beat them back into a circle; but it was some little time before the hubbub quieted down so a voice could be heard.

“Shut up, will you-all?” he was yelling. “Give us a chance to hear somethin'. Easy now—soho. There ain't nobody goin' to be hurt. Thet's right; everybody quiet now. Let's see what's come off.”

This cowboy, evidently one of authority, or at least one of strong personality, turned to the gaunt man, who still waved Duane's gun.

“Abe, put the gun down,” he said. “It might go off. Here, give it to me. Now, what's wrong? Who's this roped gent, an' what's he done?”

The gaunt fellow, who appeared now about to collapse, lifted a shaking hand and pointed.

“Thet thar feller—he's Buck Duane!” he panted.

An angry murmur ran through the surrounding crowd.

“The rope! The rope! Throw it over a branch! String him up!” cried an excited villager.

“Buck Duane! Buck Duane!”

“Hang him!”

The cowboy silenced these cries.

“Abe, how do you know this fellow is Buck Duane?” he asked, sharply.

“Why—he said so,” replied the man called Abe.

“What!” came the exclamation, incredulously.

“It's a tarnal fact,” panted Abe, waving his hands importantly. He was an old man and appeared to be carried away with the significance of his deed. “He like to rid' his hoss right over us-all. Then he jumped off, says he was Buck Duane, an' he wanted to see Jeff Aiken bad.”

This speech caused a second commotion as noisy though not so enduring as the first. When the cowboy, assisted by a couple of his mates, had restored order again some one had slipped the noose-end of Duane's rope over his head.

“Up with him!” screeched a wild-eyed youth.

The mob surged closer was shoved back by the cowboys.

“Abe, if you ain't drunk or crazy tell thet over,” ordered Abe's interlocutor.

With some show of resentment and more of dignity Abe reiterated his former statement.

“If he's Buck Duane how'n hell did you get hold of his gun?” bluntly queried the cowboy.

“Why—he set down thar—an' he kind of hid his face on his hand. An' I grabbed his gun an' got the drop on him.”

What the cowboy thought of this was expressed in a laugh. His mates likewise grinned broadly. Then the leader turned to Duane.

“Stranger, I reckon you'd better speak up for yourself,” he said.

That stilled the crowd as no command had done.

“I'm Buck Duane, all right.” said Duane, quietly. “It was this way—”

The big cowboy seemed to vibrate with a shock. All the ruddy warmth left his face; his jaw began to bulge; the corded veins in his neck stood out in knots. In an instant he had a hard, stern, strange look. He shot out a powerful hand that fastened in the front of Duane's blouse.

“Somethin' queer here. But if you're Duane you're sure in bad. Any fool ought to know that. You mean it, then?”

“Yes.”

“Rode in to shoot up the town, eh? Same old stunt of you gunfighters? Meant to kill the man who offered a reward? Wanted to see Jeff Aiken bad, huh?”

“No,” replied Duane. “Your citizen here misrepresented things. He seems a little off his head.”

“Reckon he is. Somebody is, that's sure. You claim Buck Duane, then, an' all his doings?”

“I'm Duane; yes. But I won't stand for the blame of things I never did. That's why I'm here. I saw that placard out there offering the reward. Until now I never