The Lone Star Ranger, Zane Grey [best ereader for pc TXT] 📗
- Author: Zane Grey
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“Glad you—said that, Longstreth,” replied Duane. “And sure—Lawson plugged me. It’s our secret.”
Just then Ray and Ruth entered the room. Duane heard two low cries, so different in tone, and he saw two white faces. Ray came to his side, She lifted a shaking hand to point at the blood upon his breast. White and mute, she gazed from that to her father.
“Papa!” cried Ray, wringing her hands.
“Don’t give way,” he replied, huskily. “Both you girls will need your nerve. Duane isn’t badly hurt. But Floyd is—is dead. Listen. Let me tell it quick. There’s been a fight. It—it was Lawson—it was Lawson’s gun that shot Duane. Duane let me off. In fact, Ray, he saved me. I’m to divide my property—return so far as possible what I’ve stolen—leave Texas at once with Duane, under arrest. He says maybe he can get MacNelly, the ranger captain, to let me go. For your sake!”
She stood there, realizing her deliverance, with the dark and tragic glory of her eyes passing from her father to Duane.
“You must rise above this,” said Duane to her. “I expected this to ruin you. But your father is alive. He will live it down. I’m sure I can promise you he’ll be free. Perhaps back there in Louisiana the dishonor will never be known. This country is far from your old home. And even in San Antonio and.Austin a man’s evil repute means little. Then the line between a rustler and a rancher is hard to draw in these wild border days. Rustling is stealing cattle, and I once heard a well-known rancher say that all rich cattlemen had done a little stealing Your father drifted out here, and, like a good many others, he succeeded. It’s perhaps just as well not to split hairs, to judge him by the law and morality of a civilized country. Some way or other he drifted in with bad men. Maybe a deal that was honest somehow tied his hands. This matter of land, water, a few stray head of stock had to be decided out of court. I’m sure in his case he never realized where he was drifting. Then one thing led to another, until he was face to face with dealing that took on crooked form. To protect himself he bound men to him. And so the gang developed. Many powerful gangs have developed that way out here. He could not control them. He became involved with them. And eventually their dealings became deliberately and boldly dishonest. That meant the inevitable spilling of blood sooner or later, and so he grew into the leader because he was the strongest. Whatever he is to be judged for, I think he could have been infinitely worse.”
On the morning of the twenty-sixth Duane rode into Bradford in time to catch the early train. His wounds did not seriously incapacitate him. Longstreth was with him. And Miss Longstreth and Ruth Herbert would not be left behind. They were all leaving Fairdale for ever. Longstreth had turned over the whole of his property to Morton, who was to divide it as he and his comrades believed just. Duane had left Fairdale with his party by night, passed through Sanderson in the early hours of dawn, and reached Bradford as he had planned.
That fateful morning found Duane outwardly calm, but inwardly he was in a tumult. He wanted to rush to Val Verde. Would Captain MacNelly be there with his rangers, as Duane had planned for them to be? Memory of that tawny Poggin returned with strange passion. Duane had borne hours and weeks and months of waiting, had endured the long hours of the outlaw, but now he had no patience. The whistle of the train made him leap.
It was a fast train, yet the ride seemed slow.
Duane, disliking to face Longstreth and the passengers in the car, changed his seat to one behind his prisoner. They had seldom spoken. Longstreth sat with bowed head, deep in thought. The girls sat in a seat near by and were pale but composed. Occasionally the train halted briefly at a station. The latter half of that ride Duane had observed a wagon-road running parallel with the railroad, sometimes right alongside, at others near or far away. When the train was about twenty miles from Val Verde Duane espied a dark group of horsemen trotting eastward. His blood beat like a hammer at his temples. The gang! He thought he recognized the tawny Poggin and felt a strange inward contraction. He thought he recognized the clean-cut Blossom Kane, the black-bearded giant Boldt, the red-faced Panhandle Smith, and Fletcher. There was another man strange to him. Was that Knell? No! it could not have been Knell.
Duane leaned over the seat and touched Longstreth on the shoulder.
“Look!” he whispered. Cheseldine was stiff. He had already seen.
The train flashed by; the outlaw gang receded out of range of sight.
“Did you notice Knell wasn’t with them?” whispered Duane.
Duane did not speak to Longstreth again till the train stopped at Val Verde.
They got off the car, and the girls followed as naturally as ordinary travelers. The station was a good deal larger than that at Bradford, and there was considerable action and bustle incident to the arrival of the train.
Duane’s sweeping gaze searched faces, rested upon a man who seemed familiar. This fellow’s look, too, was that of one who knew Duane, but was waiting for a sign, a cue. Then Duane recognized him—MacNelly, clean-shaven. Without mustache he appeared different, younger.
When MacNelly saw that Duane intended to greet him, to meet him, he hurried forward. A keen light flashed from his eyes. He was glad, eager, yet suppressing himself, and the glances he sent back and forth from Duane to Longstreth were questioning, doubtful. Certainly Longstreth did not look the part of an outlaw.
“Duane! Lord, I’m glad to see you,” was the Captain’s greeting. Then at closer look into Duane’s face his warmth fled—something he saw there checked his enthusiasm, or at least its utterance.
“MacNelly, shake hand with Cheseldine,” said Duane, low-voiced.
The ranger captain stood dumb, motionless. But he saw Longstreth’s instant action, and awkwardly he reached for the outstretched hand.
“Any of your men down here?” queried Duane, sharply.
“No. They’re up-town.”
“Come. MacNelly, you walk with him. We’ve ladies in the party. I’ll come behind with them.”
They set off up-town. Longstreth walked as if he were with friends on the way to dinner. The girls were mute. MacNelly walked like a man in a trance. There was not a word spoken in four blocks.
Presently Duane espied a stone building on a corner of the broad street. There was a big sign, “Rancher’s Bank.”
“There’s the hotel,” said MacNelly. “Some of my men are there. We’ve scattered around.”
They crossed the street, went through office and lobby, and then Duane asked MacNelly to take them to a private room. Without a word the Captain complied. When they were all inside Duane closed the door, and, drawing a deep breath as if of relief, he faced them calmly.
“Miss Longstreth, you and Miss Ruth try to make yourselves comfortable now,” he said. “And don’t be distressed.” Then he turned to his captain. “MacNelly, this girl is the daughter of the man I’ve brought to you, and this one is his niece.”
Then Duane briefly related Longstreth’s story, and, though he did not spare the rustler chief, he was generous.
“When I went after Longstreth,” concluded Duane, “it was either to kill him or offer him freedom on conditions. So I chose the latter for his daughter’s sake. He has already disposed of all his property. I believe he’ll live up to the conditions. He’s to leave Texas never to return. The name Cheseldine has been a mystery, and now it’ll fade.”
A few moments later Duane followed MacNelly to a large room, like a hall, and here were men reading and smoking. Duane knew them—rangers!
MacNelly beckoned to his men.
“Boys, here he is.”
“How many men have you?” asked Duane.
“Fifteen.”
MacNelly almost embraced Duane, would probably have done so but for the dark grimness that seemed to be coming over the man. Instead he glowed, he sputtered, he tried to talk, to wave his hands. He was beside himself. And his rangers crowded closer, eager, like hounds ready to run. They all talked at once, and the word most significant and frequent in their speech was “outlaws.”
MacNelly clapped his fist in his hand.
“This’ll make the adjutant sick with joy. Maybe we won’t have it on the Governor! We’ll show them about the ranger service. Duane! how’d you ever do it?”
“Now, Captain, not the half nor the quarter of this job’s done. The gang’s coming down the road. I saw them from the train. They’ll ride into town on the dot—two-thirty.”
“How many?” asked MacNelly.
“Poggin, Blossom Kane, Panhandle Smith, Boldt, Jim Fletcher, and another man I don’t know. These are the picked men of Cheseldine’s gang. I’ll bet they’ll be the fastest, hardest bunch you rangers ever faced.”
“Poggin—that’s the hard nut to crack! I’ve heard their records since I’ve been in Val Verde. Where’s Knell? They say he’s a boy, but hell and blazes!”
“Knell’s dead.”
“Ah!” exclaimed MacNelly, softly. Then he grew businesslike, cool, and of harder aspect. “Duane, it’s your game to-day. I’m only a ranger under orders. We’re all under your orders. We’ve absolute faith in you. Make your plan quick, so I can go around and post the boys who’re not here.”
“You understand there’s no sense in trying to arrest Poggin, Kane, and that lot?” queried Duane.
“No, I don’t understand that,” replied MacNelly, bluntly.
“It can’t be done. The drop can’t be got on such men. If you meet them they shoot, and mighty quick and straight. Poggin! That outlaw has no equal with a gun—unless—He’s got to be killed quick. They’ll all have to be killed. They’re all bad, desperate, know no fear, are lightning in action.”
“Very well, Duane; then it’s a fight. That’ll be easier, perhaps. The boys are spoiling for a fight. Out with your plan, now.”
“Put one man at each end of this street, just at the edge of town. Let him hide there with a rifle to block the escape of any outlaw that we might fail to get. I had a good look at the bank building. It’s well situated for our purpose. Put four men up in that room over the bank—four men, two at each open window. Let them hide till the game begins. They want to be there so in case these foxy outlaws get wise before they’re down on the ground or inside the bank. The rest of your men put inside behind the counters, where they’ll hide. Now go over to the bank, spring the thing on the bank officials, and don’t let them shut up the bank. You want their aid. Let them make sure of their gold. But the clerks and cashier ought to be at their desks or window when Poggin rides up. He’ll glance in before he gets down. They make no mistakes, these fellows. We must be slicker than they are, or lose. When you get the bank people wise, send your men over one by one. No hurry, no excitement, no unusual thing to attract notice in the bank.”
“All right. That’s great. Tell me, where do you intend to wait?”
Duane heard MacNelly’s question, and it struck him peculiarly. He had seemed to be planning and speaking
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