CHAPTER XI
After nearly six months in the Nueces gorge the loneliness and inactionof his life drove Duane out upon the trails seeking anything rather thanto hide longer alone, a prey to the scourge of his thoughts. The momenthe rode into sight of men a remarkable transformation occurred in him. Astrange warmth stirred in him--a longing to see the faces of people,to hear their voices--a pleasurable emotion sad and strange. But it wasonly 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 forceand 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 villagethere was a grave overgrown by brush so that the rude-lettered postwhich marked it was scarcely visible to Duane as he rode by. He hadnever read the inscription. But he thought now of Hardin, no other thanthe erstwhile ally of Bland. For many years Hardin had harassed thestockmen and ranchers in and around Mercer. On an evil day for him heor his outlaws had beaten and robbed a man who once succored Duanewhen sore in need. Duane met Hardin in the little plaza of the village,called him every name known to border men, taunted him to draw, andkilled 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 voiceof a friend, the prattle of children who were not afraid of him or hisgun, good wholesome food, and change of clothes--these things for thetime being made a changed man of Duane. To be sure, he did not oftenspeak. The price of his head and the weight of his burden made himsilent. But eagerly he drank in all the news that was told him. Inthe years of his absence from home he had never heard a word about hismother or uncle. Those who were his real friends on the border wouldhave been the last to make inquiries, to write or receive letters thatmight give a clue to Duane's whereabouts.
Duane remained all day with this hospitable Jones, and as twilightfell was loath to go and yielded to a pressing invitation to remainovernight. It was seldom indeed that Duane slept under a roof. Earlyin the evening, while Duane sat on the porch with two awed andhero-worshiping sons of the house, Jones returned from a quick visitdown to the post-office. Summarily he sent the boys off. He laboredunder 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 sawyou. I don't believe there's a man or boy that 'd squeal on you. But thewomen might. They gossip, and these rangers are handsome fellows--devilswith the women."
"What company of rangers?" asked Duane, quickly.
"Company A, under Captain MacNelly, that new ranger. He made a big namein the war. And since he's been in the ranger service he's done wonders.He's cleaned up some bad places south, and he's working north."
"MacNelly. I've heard of him. Describe him to me."
"Slight-built chap, but wiry and tough. Clean face, black mustache andhair. Sharp black eyes. He's got a look of authority. MacNelly's a fineman, Duane. Belongs to a good Southern family. I'd hate to have him lookyou up."
Duane did not speak.
"MacNelly's got nerve, and his rangers are all experienced men. If theyfind 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 anyofficer except a rotten sheriff now and then, like Rod Brown."
Still Duane kept silence. He was not thinking of danger, but of the factof how fleeting must be his stay among friends.
"I've already fixed up a pack of grub," went on Jones. "I'll slip out tosaddle your horse. You watch here."
He had scarcely uttered the last word when soft, swift footsteps soundedon the hard path. A man turned in at the gate. The light was dim, yetclean enough to disclose an unusually tall figure. When it appearednearer he was seen to be walking with both arms raised, hands high. Heslowed 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 handsup.
"It is known that Buck Duane is here. Captain MacNelly's camping on theriver just out of town. He sends word to Duane to come out there afterdark."
The stranger wheeled and departed as swiftly and strangely as he hadcome.
"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 nortails of it. I'd have said offhand that MacNelly wouldn't double-crossanybody. He struck me as a square man, sand all through. But, hell! hemust mean treachery. I can't see anything else in that deal."
"Maybe the Captain wants to give me a fair chance to surrender withoutbloodshed," observed Duane. "Pretty decent of him, if he meant that."
"He INVITES YOU out to his camp AFTER DARK. Something strange aboutthis, Duane. But MacNelly's a new man out here. He does some queerthings. Perhaps he's getting a swelled head. Well, whatever hisintentions, his presence around Mercer is enough for us. Duane, youhit the road and put some miles between you the amiable Captain beforedaylight. To-morrow I'll go out there and ask him what in the devil hemeant."
"That messenger he sent--he was a ranger," said Duane.
"Sure he was, and a nervy one! It must have taken sand to come bracingyou 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, darkrider who peered keenly into every shadow, trotted down a pasture laneback of Jones's house, turned into the road, and then, breaking intoswifter 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 hestaked 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 dayshe paid brief visits to several villages that lay in his path. And ineach some one particular friend had a piece of news to impart that madeDuane profoundly thoughtful. A ranger had made a quiet, unobtrusive callupon these friends and left this message, "Tell Buck Duane to ride intoCaptain MacNelly's camp some time after night."
Duane concluded, and his friends all agreed with him, that the newranger's main purpose in the Nueces country was to capture or kill BuckDuane, and that this message was simply an original and 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 ahundred miles until he again reached the sparsely settled country. Herehe heard no more of rangers. It was a barren region he had never butonce ridden through, and that ride had cost him dear. He had beencompelled to shoot his way out. Outlaws were not in accord with thefew ranchers and their cowboys who ranged there. He learned that bothoutlaws and Mexican raiders had long been at bitter enmity with theseranchers. Being unfamiliar with roads and trails, Duane had pushed oninto the heart of this district, when all the time he really believed hewas traveling around it. A rifle-shot from a ranch-house, a deliberateattempt to kill him because he was an unknown rider in those parts,discovered to Duane his mistake; and a hard ride to get away persuadedhim to return to his old methods of hiding by day and traveling bynight.
He got into rough country, rode for three days without covering muchground, but believed that he was getting on safer territory. Twice hecame to a wide bottom-land green with willow and cottonwood and thick aschaparral, somewhere through the middle of which ran a riv
er he decidedmust be the lower Nueces.
One evening, as he stole out from a covert where he had camped, he sawthe lights of a village. He tried to pass it on the left, but was unableto because the brakes of this bottom-land extended in almost to theoutskirts of the village, and he had to retrace his steps and go roundto the right. Wire fences and horses in pasture made this a task, so itwas well after midnight before he accomplished it. He made ten miles ormore then by daylight, and after that proceeded cautiously along a roadwhich appeared to be well worn from travel. He passed several thicketswhere he would have halted to hide during the day but for the fact thathe had to find water.
He was a long while in coming to it, and then there was no thicket orclump of mesquite near the waterhole that would afford him covert. So hekept on.
The country before him was ridgy and began to show cottonwoods here andthere in the hollows and yucca and mesquite on the higher ground. As hemounted a ridge he noted that the road made a sharp turn, and he couldnot see what was beyond it. He slowed up and was making the turn, whichwas down-hill between high banks of yellow clay, when his mettlesomehorse heard something to frighten him or shied at something and bolted.
The few bounds he took before Duane's iron arm checked him were enoughto reach the curve. One flashing glance showed Duane the open once more,a little valley below with a wide, shallow, rocky stream, a clump ofcottonwoods beyond, a somber 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 neverbefore found himself so unpleasantly close.
A hoarse voice pealed out: "By hell! there's another one!"
"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. Duanewas wheeling his horse when a rifle cracked. The bullet struck his leftforearm and he thought broke it, for he dropped the rein. The frightenedhorse leaped. Another bullet whistled past Duane. Then the bend in theroad saved him probably from certain death. Like the wind his fleetsteed wend down the long hill.
Duane was in no hurry to look back. He knew what to expect. His chiefconcern of the moment was for his injured arm. He found that the boneswere still intact; but the wound, having been made by a soft bullet, wasan exceedingly bad one. Blood poured from it. Giving the horse his head,Duane wound his scarf tightly round the holes, and with teeth and handtied it tightly. That done, he looked back over his shoulder.
Riders were making the dust fly on the hillside road. There were morecoming round the cut where the road curved. The leader was perhaps aquarter of a mile back, and the others strung out behind him. Duaneneeded only one glance to tell him that they were fast and hard-ridingcowboys in a land where all riders were good. They would not have ownedany but strong, swift horses. Moreover, it was a district where ranchershad suffered beyond all endurance the greed and brutality of outlaws.Duane had simply been so unfortunate as to run right into a lynchingparty at a time of all times when any stranger would be in danger andany outlaw put to his limit to escape with his life.
Duane did not look back again till he had crossed the ridgy pieceof ground and had gotten to the level road. He had gained upon hispursuers. When he ascertained this he tried to save his horse, to checka little that killing gait. This horse was a magnificent animal, big,strong, fast; but his endurance had never been put to a grueling test.And that worried Duane. His life had made it impossible to keep onehorse 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 thatwas to make the river-bottoms, where he might elude his pursuers in thewillow brakes. Fifteen miles or so would bring him to the river, andthis was not a hopeless distance for any good horse if not too closelypressed. Duane concluded presently that the cowboys behind were losing alittle in the chase because they were not extending their horses. It wasdecidedly unusual for such riders to save their mounts. Duane ponderedover this, looking backward several times to see if their horses werestretched out. They were not, and the fact was disturbing. Only onereason presented itself to Duane's conjecturing, and it was that withhim headed straight on that road his pursuers were satisfied not toforce the running. He began to hope and look for a trail or a roadturning off to right or left. There was none. A rough, mesquite-dottedand yucca-spired country extended away on either side. Duane believedthat he would be compelled to take to this hard going. One thing wascertain--he had to go round the village. The river, however, was on theoutskirts 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 eyesstrained; he hoped to see a wagon, a few stray cattle. But no, he soondescried several horsemen. Shots and yells behind him attested to thefact that his pursuers likewise had seen these new-comers on the scene.More than a mile separated these two parties, yet that distance did notkeep them from soon understanding each other. Duane waited only to seethis new factor show signs of sudden quick action, and then, with amuttered curse, he spurred his horse off the road into the brush.
He chose the right side, because the river lay nearer that way. Therewere patches of open sandy ground between clumps of cactus and mesquite,and he found that despite a zigzag course he made better time. It wasimpossible for him to locate his pursuers. They would come together, hedecided, and take to his tracks.
What, then, was his surprise and dismay to run out of a thicket rightinto 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 toa harder soil, where his horse did not labor so. Here the growths ofmesquite and cactus became scanter, affording better travel but poorcover. He kept sharp eyes ahead, and, as he had expected, soon sawmoving dust-clouds and the dark figures of horses. They were half a mileaway, and swinging obliquely across the flat, which fact proved thatthey had entertained a fair idea of the country and the fugitive'sdifficulty.
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 madeimpossible by a deep wash from which he had to turn, Duane began to feelcold and sick. Was this the end? Always there had to be an end to anoutlaw's career. He wanted then to ride straight at these pursuers. Butreason outweighed instinct. He was fleeing for his life; nevertheless,the strongest instinct at the time was his desire to fight.
He knew when these three horsemen saw him, and a moment afterward helost sight of them as he got into the mesquite again. He meant nowto try to reach the road, and pushed his mount severely, though stillsaving him for a final burst. Rocks, thickets, bunches of cactus,washes--all operated against his following a straight line. Almost helost his bearings, and finally would have ridden toward his enemieshad not good fortune favored him in the matter of an open burned-overstretch of ground.
Here he saw both groups of pursuers, one on each side and almost withingun-shot. Their sharp yells, as much as his cruel spurs, drove his horseinto that pace which now meant life or death for him. And never hadDuane bestrode a gamer, swifter, stancher beast. He seemed about toaccomplish the impossible. In the dragging sand he was far superior toany horse in pursuit, and on this sandy open stretch he gained enoughto spare a little in the brush beyond. Heated now and thoroughlyterrorized, he kept the pace through thickets that almost tore Duanefrom his saddle. Something weighty and grim eased off Duane. He wasgoing 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. Theyyelled, they spurred toward him, but did not fire at him. He turned hishorse--faced to the right. Only one thing kept him from standing hisground to fight it out. He remembered those dangling limp figureshanging from the cottonwoods. These ranchers would rather hang an outlawthan do
anything. They might draw all his fire and then capture him. Hishorror of hanging was so great as to be all out of proportion comparedto his gun-fighter's instinct of self-preservation.
A race began then, a dusty, crashing drive through gray mesquite. Duanecould scarcely see, he was so blinded by stinging branches across hiseyes. The hollow wind roared in his ears. He lost his sense of thenearness of his pursuers. But they must have been close. Did theyshoot at him? He imagined he heard shots. But that might have beenthe cracking of dead snags. His left arm hung limp, almost useless; hehandled the rein with his right; and most of the time he hung low overthe pommel. The gray walls flashing by him, the whip of twigs, the rushof wind, the heavy, rapid pound of hoofs, the violent motion of hishorse--these vied in sensation with the smart of sweat in his eyes, therack of his wound, the cold, sick cramp in his stomach. With these alsowas dull, raging fury. He had to run when he wanted to fight. It tookall his mind to force back that bitter hate of himself, of his pursuers,of this race for his useless life.
Suddenly he burst out of a line of mesquite into the road. A longstretch of lonely road! How fiercely, with hot, strange joy, he wheeledhis horse upon it! Then he was sweeping along, sure now that he was outin front. His horse still had strength and speed, but showed signs ofbreaking. Presently Duane looked back. Pursuers--he could not count howmany--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 tofoil them.
He passed a few scattered ranch-houses where horses whistled fromcorrals, and men curiously watched him fly past. He saw one rancherrunning, and he felt intuitively that this fellow was going to join inthe chase. Duane's steed pounded on, not noticeably slower, but with alack of former smoothness, with a strained, convulsive, jerking stridewhich showed he was almost done.
Sight of the village ahead surprised Duane. He had reached it soonerthan he expected. Then he made a discovery--he had entered the zone ofwire fences. As he dared not turn back now, he kept on, intending toride through the village. Looking backward, he saw that his pursuerswere half a mile distant, too far to alarm any villagers in time tointercept him in his flight. As he rode by the first houses his horsebroke and began to labor. Duane did not believe he would last longenough to go through the village.
Saddled horses in front of a store gave Duane an idea, not by any meansnew, and one he had carried out successfully before. As he pulled inhis heaving mount and leaped off, a couple of ranchers came out of theplace, and one of them stepped to a clean-limbed, fiery bay. He wasabout to get into his saddle when he saw Duane, and then he halted, afoot 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. "Butain'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 fellback.
"I reckon I'll trade," he said.
Bounding up, Duane dug spurs into the bay's flanks. The horse snortedin fright, plunged into a run. He was fresh, swift, half wild. Duaneflashed by the remaining houses on the street out into the open. But theroad ended at that village or else led out from some other quarter, forhe 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 findsix horsemen within rifle-shot of him, and more coming behind them.
His new horse had not had time to get warm before Duane reached a highsandy bluff below which lay the willow brakes. As far as he could seeextended an immense flat strip of red-tinged willow. How welcome it wasto his eye! He felt like a hunted wolf that, weary and lame, had reachedhis hole in the rocks. Zigzagging down the soft slope, he put the bay tothe dense wall of leaf and branch. But the horse balked.
There was little time to lose. Dismounting, he dragged the stubbornbeast into the thicket. This was harder and slower work than Duane caredto risk. If he had not been rushed he might have had better success. Sohe had to abandon the horse--a circumstance that only such sore straitscould have driven him to. Then he went slipping swiftly through thenarrow aisles.
He had not gotten under cover any too soon. For he heard his pursuerspiling over the bluff, loud-voiced, confident, brutal. They crashed intothe willows.
"Hi, Sid! Heah's your hoss!" called one, evidently to the man Duane hadforced 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 WASBUCK DUANE!"
Absolute silence followed that statement. Presently it was broken by arattling of loose gravel and then low voices.
"He can't git across the river, I tell you," came to Duane's ears. "He'scorralled in the brake. I know thet hole."
Then Duane, gliding silently and swiftly through the willows, heard nomore from his pursuers. He headed straight for the river. Threading apassage through a willow brake was an old task for him. Many days andnights had gone to the acquiring of a skill that might have been enviedby an Indian.
The Rio Grande and its tributaries for the most of their length in Texasran between wide, low, flat lands covered by a dense growth of willow.Cottonwood, mesquite, prickly pear, and other growths mingled with thewillow, and altogether they made a matted, tangled copse, a thicket thatan inexperienced man would have considered impenetrable. From above,these wild brakes looked green and red; from the inside they were grayand yellow--a striped wall. Trails and glades were scarce. There werea few deer-runways and sometimes little paths made by peccaries--thejabali, 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 agrowth of cottonwood had held back the encroachment of the willows thereusually was thick grass and underbrush. The willows were short, slenderpoles with stems so close together that they almost touched, and withthe leafy foliage forming a thick covering. The depths of this brakeDuane had penetrated was a silent, dreamy, strange place. In the middleof the day the light was weird and dim. When a breeze fluttered thefoliage, then slender shafts and spears of sunshine pierced the greenmantle and danced like gold on the ground.
Duane had always felt the strangeness of this kind of place, andlikewise he had felt a protecting, harboring something which alwaysseemed to him to be the sympathy of the brake for a hunted creature. Anyunwounded creature, strong and resourceful, was safe when he had glidedunder the low, rustling green roof of this wild covert. It was not hardto conceal tracks; the springy soil gave forth no sound; and men couldhunt each other for weeks, pass within a few yards of each other andnever know it. The problem of sustaining life was difficult; but, then,hunted men and animals survived on very little.
Duane wanted to cross the river if that was possible, and, keepingin the brake, work his way upstream till he had reached country morehospitable. Remembering what the man had said in regard to the river,Duane had his doubts about crossing. But he would take any chance to putthe river between him and his hunters. He pushed on. His left arm had tobe favored, as he could scarcely move it. Using his right to spread thewillows, he slipped sideways between them and made fast time. Therewere narrow aisles and washes and holes low down and paths brushed byanimals, all of which he took advantage of, running, walking, crawling,stooping any way to get along. To keep in a straight line was noteasy--he did it by marking some bright sunlit stem or tree ahead, andwhen he reached it looked straight on to mark another. His progressnecessarily grew slower, for as he advanced the brake became wilder,denser, darker. Mosquitoes began to whine about his head. He kept onwithout pause. Deepening shadows under the willows told him that theafternoon was far advance
d. He began to fear he had wandered in a wrongdirection. Finally a strip of light ahead relieved his anxiety, andafter a toilsome penetration of still denser brush he broke through tothe bank of the river.
He faced a wide, shallow, muddy stream with brakes on the opposite bankextending like a green and yellow wall. Duane perceived at a glance thefutility of his trying to cross at this point. Everywhere the sluggishwater raved quicksand bars. In fact, the bed of the river was allquicksand, and very likely there was not a foot of water anywhere. Hecould not swim; he could not crawl; he could not push a log across. Anysolid thing touching that smooth yellow sand would be grasped and suckeddown. To prove this he seized a long pole and, reaching down from thehigh bank, thrust it into the stream. Right there near shore thereapparently was no bottom to the treacherous quicksand. He abandoned anyhope of crossing the river. Probably for miles up and down it would bejust the same as here. Before leaving the bank he tied his hat upon thepole and lifted enough water to quench his thirst. Then he worked hisway back to where thinner growth made advancement easier, and kept onup-stream till the shadows were so deep he could not see. Feeling aroundfor a place big enough to stretch out on, he lay down. For the timebeing 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 painin his arm he dropped at once into sleep.