The Lone Star Ranger
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Zane Grey >> The Lone Star Ranger
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"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; we'll 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 answer. But he could guess what it would be.
Lawson appeared to be all Duane had thought him, and he
believed he was going to find out presently that he was worse.
The men seemed to be absent a good while, though that feeling
might have been occasioned by Duane's thrilling interest and
anxiety. Finally he heard heavy steps. Lawson came in alone. He
was leaden-faced, humiliated. Then something abject in him gave
place to rage. He strode the room; he cursed. Then Longstreth
returned, now appreciably calmer. Duane could not but decide
that he felt relief at the evident rejection of Lawson's
proposal.
"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," declared 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 believe 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 passionate weakling. Duane seemed to see also how during
all the years of association this strong man had upheld the
weak one. But that time had gone for ever, both in intent on
Longstreth's part and in possibility. Lawson, like the great
majority of evil and unrestrained men on the border, had
reached a point where influence was futile. Reason had
degenerated. He saw only himself.
"But, Floyd, Ray's the one person on earth who must never know
I'm a rustler, a thief, a red-handed ruler of the worst gang on
the border," replied Longstreth, impressively.
Floyd bowed his head at that, as if the significance had just
occurred to him. But he was not long at a loss.
"She's going to find it out sooner or later. I tell you she
knows now there's something wrong out here. She's 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 perceptible, like the switch of an awakening
tiger. He sat there, head down, stroking his mustache. Almost
Duane saw his thought. He had long experience in reading men
under stress of such emotion. He had no means to vindicate his
judgment, but his conviction was that Longstreth right then and
there decided that the thing to do was to kill Lawson. For
Duane's part he wondered that Longstreth had not come to such a
conclusion before. Not improbably the advent of his daughter
had put Longstreth in conflict with himself.
Suddenly he threw off a somber cast of countenance, and he
began to talk. He talked swiftly, persuasively, yet Duane
imagined he was talking to smooth Lawson's passion for the
moment. Lawson no more caught the fateful significance of a
line crossed, a limit reached, a decree decided than if he had
not been present. He was obsessed with himself. How, Duane
wondered, had a man of his mind ever lived so long and gone so
far among the exacting conditions of the Southwest? The answer
was, perhaps, that Longstreth had guided him, upheld him,
protected him. The coming of Ray Longstreth had been the
entering-wedge of dissension.
"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."
"I'm bad enough, but not that bad," returned Longstreth. "If I
can't get the gang to let me off, I'll stay and face the music.
All the same, Lawson, did it ever strike you that most of the
deals the last few years have been YOURS?"
"Yes. If I hadn't rung them in there wouldn't have been any.
You've had cold feet, and especially since this ranger has been
here."
"Well, call it cold feet if you like. But I call it sense. We
reached our limit long ago. We began by rustling a few cattle--
at a time when rustling was laughed at. But as our greed grew
so did our boldness. Then came the gang, the regular trips, the
one thing and another till, before we knew it--before I knew
it--we had shady deals, holdups, and MURDERS on our record.
Then we HAD to go on. Too late to turn back!"
"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
bullheaded. Who would ever connect Granger Longstreth with a
rustler gang? I've changed my mind. I've begun to think. I've
reasoned out things. We're crooked, and we can't last. It's the
nature of life, even here, for conditions to grow better. The
wise deal for us would be to divide equally and leave the
country, all of us."
"But you and I have all the stock--all the gain," protested
Lawson.
"I'll split mine."
"I won't--that settles that," added Lawson, instantly.
Longstreth spread wide his hands as if it was useless to try to
convince this man. Talking had not increased his calmness, and
he now showed more than impatience. A dull glint gleamed deep
in his eyes.
"Your stock and property will last a long 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," replied 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, don't be a fool. You've been on the border for ten
years. You've packed a gun and you've used it. You've been with
rustlers when they killed their men. You've been present at
many fights. But you never in all that time saw a man like this
ranger. You haven't got sense enough to see him right if you
had a chance. Neither have any of you. The only way to get rid
of him is for the gang to draw on him, all at once. Then he's
going to drop some of them."
"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."
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
get 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 and meant to use it. Then heavy footsteps sounded outside
tramping upon the porch. Duane might have been mistaken, but he
believed those footsteps saved Lawson's life.
"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 shoulders shook hands with
Longstreth, and the others stood back.
The atmosphere of that room had changed. Lawson might have been
a nonentity for all he counted. Longstreth was another man--a
stranger to Duane. If he had entertained a hope of freeing
himself from this band, of getting away to a safer country, he
abandoned it at the very sight of these men. There was power
here, and he was bound.
The big man spoke in low, hoarse whispers, and at this all the
others gathered around him close to the table. There were
evidently some signs of membership not plain to Duane. Then all
the heads were bent over the table. Low voices spoke, queried,
answered, argued. By straining his ears Duane caught a word
here and there. They were planning, and they were brief. Duane
gathered they were to have a rendezvous at or near Ord.
Then the big man, who evidently was the leader of the present
convention, got up to depart. He went as swiftly as he had
come, and was followed by his comrades. Longstreth prepared for
a quiet smoke. Lawson seemed uncommunicative and unsociable. He
smoked fiercely and drank continually. All at once he
straightened up as if listening.
"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 inappreciable
movement of the adobe wall which supported him. He could
scarcely credit his senses. But the rattle inside Longstreth's
room was mingling with little dull thuds of falling dirt. The
adobe wall, merely dried mud, was crumbling. Duane distinctly
felt a tremor pass through it. Then the blood gushed back to
his heart.
"What in the hell!" exclaimed Longstreth.
"I smell dust," said Lawson, sharply.
That was the signal for 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 boots lent Duane the strength of
desperation. He was not shirking a fight, but to be cornered
like a trapped coyote was another matter. He almost tore his
clothes off in that passage. The dust nearly stifled him. When
he burst into the patio it was not a single instant too soon.
But one deep gasp of breath revived him and he was up, gun in
hand, running for the outlet into the court. Thumping footsteps
turned him back. While there was a chance to get away he did
not want to fight. He thought he heard someone running into the
patio from the other end. He stole along, and coming to a door,
without any idea of where it might lead, he softly pushed it
open a little way and slipped in.
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 was a heavy door without bolt or bar, and when Duane
had shut it he felt safe only for the moment. Then he gazed
around the room. There was one window with blind closely drawn.
He listened and seemed to hear footsteps retreating, dying
away.
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 expression in them. She was terrified because
she believed he meant to kill her, or do worse, probably worse.
Duane realized he must have looked pretty hard and fierce
bursting into her room with that big gun in hand.
The way she searched Duane's face with doubtful, fearful eyes
hurt him.
"Listen. I didn't know this was your room. I came here to get
away--to save my life. I was pursued. I was spying on--on your
father and his men. They heard me, but did not see me. They
don't know who was listening. They're after me now."
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 off 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.
"But you must. It's the only safe way. They won't come here."
"Suppose they should? It's an even chance Longstreth'll search
every room and corner in this old house. If they found me here
I couldn't start a fight. You might be hurt. Then--the fact of
my being here--"
Duane did not finish what he meant, but instead made a step
toward the door. White of face and dark of eye, she took hold
of him to detain him. She was as strong and supple as a
panther. But she need not have been either resolute or strong,
for the clasp of her hand was enough to make Duane weak.
"Up yet, Ray?" came Longstreth's clear voice, too strained, too
eager to be natural.
"No. I'm in bed reading. Good night," instantly replied Miss
Longstreth, so calmly and naturally that Duane marveled at the
difference between man and woman. Then she motioned for Duane
to hide in the closet. He slipped in, but the door would not
close altogether.
"Are you alone?" went on Longstreth's penetrating 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 indistinctly another man.
Longstreth barred Lawson from entering, which action showed
control as well as distrust. He wanted to see into the room.
When he had glanced around he went out and closed the door.
Then what seemed a long interval ensued. The house grew silent
once more. Duane could not see Miss Longstreth, but he heard
her quick breathing. How long did she mean to let him stay
hidden there? Hard and perilous as his life had been, this was
a new kind of adventure. He had divined the strange softness of
his feeling as something due to the magnetism of this beautiful
woman. It hardly seemed possible that he, who had been outside
the pale for so many years, could have fallen in love. Yet that
must be the secret of his agitation.
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.
"All the same it's true. And that makes me feel more the
trouble my coming caused you."
"You will not fight my father?"
"Not if I can help it. I'm trying to get out of his 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 suspected. It was tricky cattle deals I
imagined he was engaged 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, miserably. "But
Longstreth is father's real name."
Duane felt so stunned he could not speak at once. It was the
girl's part in this tragedy that weakened him. The instant she
betrayed the secret Duane realized perfectly that he did love
her. The emotion was like a great flood.
"Miss Longstreth, all this seems so unbelievable," he
whispered. "Cheseldine is the rustler chief I've come out here
to get. He's only a name. Your father is the real man. I've
sworn to get him. I'm bound by more than law or oaths. I can't
break what binds me. And I must disgrace you--wreck your lifer
Why, Miss Longstreth, I believe I--I love you. It's all come in
a rush. I'd die for you if I could. How fatal--terrible--this
is! How things work out!"
She slipped to her knees, with her hands on his.
"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
Before going to sleep that night Duane had decided to go to Ord
and try to find the rendezvous where Longstreth was to meet his
men. These men Duane wanted even more than their leader. If
Longstreth, or Cheseldine, was the brains of that gang, Poggin
was the executor. It was Poggin who needed to be found and
stopped. Poggin and his right-hand men! Duane experienced a
strange, tigerish thrill. It was thought of Poggin more than
thought of success for MacNelly's plan. Duane felt dubious over
this emotion.
Next day he set out for Bradford. He was glad to get away from
Fairdale for a while. But the hours and the miles in no wise
changed the new pain in his heart. The only way he could forget
Miss Longstreth was to let his mind dwell upon Poggin, and even
this was not always effective.
He avoided Sanderson, and at the end of the day and a half he
arrived at Bradford.
The night of the day before he reached Bradford, No. 6, the
mail and express train going east, was held up by
train-robbers, the Wells-Fargo messenger killed over his safe,
the mail-clerk wounded, the bags carried away. The engine of
No. 6 came into town minus even a tender, and engineer and
fireman told conflicting stories. A posse of railroad men and
citizens, led by a sheriff Duane suspected was crooked, was
made up before the engine steamed back to pick up the rest of
the train. Duane had the sudden inspiration that he had been
cudgeling his mind to find; and, acting upon it, he mounted his
horse again and left Bradford unobserved. As he rode out into
the night, over a dark trail in the direction of Ord, he
uttered a short, grim, sardonic laugh at the hope that he might
be taken for a train-robber.
He rode at an easy trot most of the night, and when the black
peak of Ord Mountain loomed up against the stars he halted,
tied his horse, and slept until dawn. He had brought a small
pack, and now he took his time cooking breakfast. When the sun
was well up he saddled Bullet, and, leaving the trail where his
tracks showed plain in the ground, he put his horse to the
rocks and brush. He selected an exceedingly rough, roundabout,
and difficult course to Ord, hid his tracks with the skill of a
long-hunted fugitive, and arrived there with his horse winded
and covered with lather. It added considerable to his arrival
that the man Duane remembered as Fletcher and several others
saw him come in the back way through the lots and jump a fence
into the road.
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 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 hev to rustle water."
Duane led Bullet to the place indicated, had care of his
welfare, and left him there. Upon returning to the tavern porch
Duane saw the group of men had been added to by others, some of
whom he had seen before. Without comment Duane walked along the
edge of the road, and wherever one of the tracks of his horse
showed he carefully obliterated it. This procedure was
attentively watched by Fletcher and his companions.
"Wal, Dodge," remarked Fletcher, as Duane returned, "thet's
safer 'n prayin' fer rain."
Duanes reply was a remark as loquacious as Fletcher's, to the
effect that a long, slow, monotonous ride was conducive to
thirst. They all joined him, unmistakably friendly. But Knell
was not there, and most assuredly not Poggin. Fletcher was no
common outlaw, but, whatever his ability, it probably lay in
execution of orders. Apparently at that time these men had
nothing to do but drink and lounge around the tavern. Evidently
they were poorly supplied with money, though Duane observed
they could borrow a peso occasionally from the bartender. Duane
set out to make himself agreeable and succeeded. There was
card-playing for small stakes, idle jests of coarse nature,
much bantering among the younger fellows, and occasionally a
mild quarrel. All morning men came and went, until, all told,
Duane calculated he had seen at least fifty. Toward the middle
of the afternoon a young fellow burst into the saloon and
yelled one word:
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