CHAPTER XVII
Duane left the hall, elbowed his way through the crowd, and went downthe street. He was certain that on the faces of some men he had seenill-concealed wonder and satisfaction. He had struck some kind of a hottrait, and he meant to see where it led. It was by no means unlikelythat Cheseldine might be at the other end. Duane controlled a mountingeagerness. But ever and anon it was shot through with a remembrance ofRay Longstreth. He suspected her father of being not what he pretended.He might, very probably would, bring sorrow and shame to this youngwoman. 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 thedisgrace he might bring upon her. Some strange emotion, long lockedinside Duane's heart, knocked to be heard, to be let out. He wastroubled.
Upon returning to the inn he found Laramie there, apparently none theworse for his injury.
"How are you, Laramie?" he asked.
"Reckon I'm feelin' as well as could be expected," replied Laramie. Hishead was circled by a bandage that did not conceal the lump where he hadbeen struck. He looked pale, but was bright enough.
"That was a good crack Snecker gave you," remarked Duane.
"I ain't accusin' Bo," remonstrated Laramie, with eyes that made Duanethoughtful.
"Well, I accuse him. I caught him--took him to Longstreth's court. Butthey let him go."
Laramie appeared to be agitated by this intimation of friendship.
"See here, Laramie," went on Duane, "in some parts of Texas it's policyto be close-mouthed. Policy and health-preserving! Between ourselves, Iwant you to know I lean on your side of the fence."
Laramie gave a quick start. Presently Duane turned and frankly met hisgaze. He had startled Laramie out of his habitual set taciturnity; buteven as he looked the light that might have been amaze and joy faded outof 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 Fairdale.I was some sore the other day to find I was losing good money atLongstreth'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 HopeSo joint."
"He owns considerable property hereabouts," replied 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 causeI'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 thered was deeper in his face.
"Sure. I know that," Duane said. "And usually I don't talk. Then it'snot well known that Longstreth owns the Hope So?"
"Reckon it's known in Pecos, all right. But Longstreth's name isn'tconnected with the Hope So. Blandy runs the place."
"That Blandy. His faro game's crooked, or I'm a locoed bronch. Not thatwe 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 HopeSo 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 elevenyears."
"Well, I'll be doggoned." It was indeed Duane's turn to be surprised,and with the surprise came a glimmering. "I'm sorry you're not therenow. Did you sell out?"
"No. Just lost the place."
Laramie was bursting for relief now--to talk, to tell. Sympathy had madehim soft.
"It was two years ago-two years last March," he went on. "I was in a bigcattle deal with Longstreth. We got the stock--an' my share, eighteenhundred head, was rustled off. I owed Longstreth. He pressed me. It cometo a lawsuit--an' I--was ruined."
It hurt Duane to look at Laramie. He was white, and tears rolled downhis cheeks. Duane saw the bitterness, the defeat, the agony of theman. He had failed to meet his obligations; nevertheless, he had beenswindled. All that he suppressed, all that would have been passion hadthe man's spirit not been broken, lay bare for Duane to see. He had nowthe secret of his bitterness. But the reason he did not openly accuseLongstreth, the secret of his reticence and fear--these Duane thoughtbest to try to learn at some later time.
"Hard luck! It certainly was tough," Duane said. "But you're a goodloser. And the wheel turns! Now, Laramie, here's what. I need youradvice. I've got a little money. But before I lose it I want to investsome. Buy some stock, or buy an interest in some rancher's herd. What Iwant you to steer me on is a good square rancher. Or maybe a couple ofranchers, if there happen to be two honest ones. Ha, ha! No deals withranchers who ride in the dark with rustlers! I've a hunch Fairdale isfull of them. Now, Laramie, you've been here for years. Sure you mustknow a couple of men above suspicion."
"Thank God I do," he replied, feelingly. "Frank Morton an' Si Zimmer, myfriends an' neighbors all my prosperous days, an' friends still. Youcan gamble on Frank and Si. But if you want advice from me--don't investmoney 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--theseare easy pickin' for the rustlers. Lord knows all the ranchers are easyenough pickin'. But the new fellers have to learn the ropes. They don'tknow anythin' or anybody. An' the old ranchers are wise an' sore. They'dfight if they--"
"What?" Duane put in, as he paused. "If they knew who was rustling thestock?"
"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 goodman to tie to. Now, I've a little money and before I lose it I'd like toinvest it in stock."
Morton smiled broadly.
"I'm on the square," Duane said, bluntly. "If you fellows never size upyour neighbors any better than you have sized me--well, you won't getany richer."
It was enjoyment for Duane to make his remarks to these men pregnantwith meaning. Morton showed his pleasure, his interest, but his faithheld aloof.
"I've got some money. Will you let me in on some kind of deal? Will youstart me up as a stockman with a little herd all my own?"
"Wal, stranger, to come out flat-footed, you'd be foolish to buy cattlenow. I don't want to take your money an' see you lose out. Better goback across the Pecos where the rustlers ain't so strong. I haven't hadmore'n twenty-five hundred herd of stock for ten years. The rustlers letme hang on to a breedin' herd. Kind of them, ain't it?"
"Sort of kind. All I hear is rustlers, Morton," replied Duane, withimpatience. "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 hisbig jaw as if to shut in impulsive words.
"Look here, Morton. It stands to reason, no matter how strong theserustlers are, how hidden their work, however involved with supposedlyhonest men--they CAN'T last."
"They come with the pioneers, an' they'll last till thar's a singlesteer left," he declared.
"Well, if you take that view of circumstances I just figu
re you as oneof the rustlers."
Morton looked as if he were about to brain Duane with the butt of hiswhip. His anger flashed by then, evidently as unworthy of him, and,something striking him as funny, he boomed out a laugh.
"It's not so funny," Duane went on. "If you're going to pretend a yellowstreak, what else will I think?"
"Pretend?" he repeated.
"Sure. I know men of nerve. And here they're not any different fromthose in other places. I say if you show anything like a lack of sandit's all bluff. By nature you've got nerve. There are a lot of menaround Fairdale who're afraid of their shadows--afraid to be out afterdark--afraid to open their mouths. But you're not one. So I say if youclaim these rustlers will last you're pretending lack of nerve just tohelp the popular idea along. For they CAN'T last. What you need out hereis some new blood. Savvy what I mean?"
"Wal, I reckon I do," he replied, looking as if a storm had blown overhim. "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 gazefixed again on Duane.
"Wal," he replied, speaking low. "You've picked the right men. Now, whoin the hell are you?"
Reaching into the inside pocket of his buckskin vest, Duane turned thelining 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 rungtrue to me."
"Laramie, do you know who's boss of this secret gang of rustlershereabouts?" asked Duane, bluntly. It was characteristic of him tocome sharp to the point. His voice--something deep, easy, cool abouthim--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--theregulars."
"Jest a bad lot," replied Laramie, with the quick assurance ofknowledge. "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 withthis gang here?"
"Lord knows. I've always suspected them the same gang. None of us everseen Cheseldine--an' thet's strange, when Knell, Poggin, PanhandleSmith, Blossom Kane, and Fletcher, they all ride here often. No, Poggindoesn't come often. But the others do. For thet matter, they're aroundall over west of the Pecos."
"Now I'm puzzled over this," said Duane. "Why do men--apparently honestmen--seem to be so close-mouthed here? Is that a fact, or only myimpression?"
"It's a sure fact," replied Laramie, darkly. "Men have lost cattle an'property in Fairdale--lost them honestly or otherwise, as hasn't beenproved. An' in some cases when they talked--hinted a little--they wasfound 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 notintolerable. Western Texas had gone on prospering, growing in spite ofthe hordes of rustlers ranging its vast stretches; but a cold, secret,murderous hold on a little struggling community was something toostrange, too terrible for men to stand long.
The ranger was about to speak again when the clatter of hoofsinterrupted 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 Lawsonshowed rage as he saw the ranger, and then a dark glint flitted fromthe eyes that shifted from Duane to Laramie and back again. Duane leanedeasily against the counter.
"Say, that was a bad break of yours," Lawson said. "If you come foolinground the ranch again there'll be hell."
It seemed strange that a man who had lived west of the Pecos for tenyears could not see in Duane something which forbade that kind of talk.It certainly was not nerve Lawson showed; men of courage were seldomintolerant. With the matchless nerve that characterized the great gunmenof the day there was a cool, unobtrusive manner, a speech brief, almostgentle, certainly courteous. Lawson was a hot-headed Louisianian ofFrench extraction; a man, evidently, who had never been crossed inanything, and who was strong, brutal, passionate, which qualities in theface of a situation like this made him simply a fool.
"I'm saying again, you used your ranger bluff just to get near RayLongstreth," Lawson sneered. "Mind you, if you come up there againthere'll be hell."
"You're right. But not the kind you think," Duane retorted, his voicesharp 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 intentionto rouse Duane; the man was simply rancorous, jealous. "I'll callyou right. You cheap bluffer! You four-flush! You damned interfering,conceited ranger!"
"Lawson, I'll not take offense, because you seem to be championing yourbeautiful cousin," replied Duane, in slow speech. "But let me returnyour compliment. You're a fine Southerner! Why, you're only a cheapfour-flush--damned, bull-headed RUSTLER!"
Duane hissed the last word. Then for him there was the truth in Lawson'sworking passion-blackened face.
Lawson jerked, moved, meant to draw. But how slow! Duane lunged forward.His long arm swept up. And Lawson staggered backward, knocking table andchairs, to fall hard, in a half-sitting posture against the wall.
"Don't draw!" warned Duane.
"Lawson, git away from your gun!" yelled Laramie.
But Lawson was crazed with fury. He tugged at his hip, his face cordedwith purple welts, malignant, murderous. Duane kicked the gun out of hishand. 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 gangright 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 heis he'll begin thet secret underground bizness. Why, Lawson won't sleepof nights now. He an' Longstreth have always been after me."
"Laramie, what are your eyes for?" demanded Duane. "Watch out. And nowhere. See your friend Morton. Tell him this game grows hot. Together youapproach four or five men you know well and can absolutely trust. I mayneed your help."
Then Duane went from place to place, corner to corner, bar to bar,watching, listening, recording. The excitement had preceded him, andspeculation was rife. He thought best to keep out of it. After dark hestole up to Longstreth's ranch. The evening was warm; the doors wereopen; and in the twilight the only lamps that had been lit were inLongstreth's big sitting-room, at the far end of the house. When abuckboard drove up and Longstreth and Lawson alighted, Duane was wellhidden in the bushes, so well screened that he could get but a fleetingglimpse of Longstreth as he went in. For all Duane could see, heappeared to be a calm and quiet man, intense beneath the surface, withan air of dignity under insult. Duane's chance to observe Lawson waslost. They went into the house without speaking and closed the door.
At the other end of the porch, close under a window, was an offsetbetween step and wall, and there in the shadow Duane hid. So Duanewaited there in the darkness with patience born 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. He seemedpale, worried."
"Cousin Floyd looked like a thunder-cloud," said Ruth. "For once hedidn't try to kiss me. Something's happened. Well, Ray, this ha
d been abad day."
"Oh, dear! Ruth, what can we do? These are wild men. Floyd makes lifemiserable 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 so. He's mushy. And whenhe'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 ashe is to-night, nor you so--so worried. Tell me, what has happened?"
"Well, Ray, we had a jar to-day," replied Lawson, with a blunt,expressive laugh.
"Jar?" echoed both the girls, curiously.
"We had to submit to a damnable outrage," added Lawson, passionately,as if the sound of his voice augmented his feeling. "Listen, girls; I'lltell you-all about it." He coughed, cleared his throat in a way thatbetrayed he had been drinking.
Duane sunk deeper into the shadow of his covert, and, stiffening hismuscles for a protected spell of rigidity, prepared to listen with allacuteness and intensity. Just one word from this Lawson, inadvertentlyuttered in a moment of passion, might be the word Duane needed for hisclue.
"It happened at the town hall," began Lawson, rapidly. "Your father andJudge Owens and I were there in consultation with three ranchers fromout of town. Then that damned ranger stalked in dragging Snecker, thefellow who hid here in the house. He had arrested Snecker for allegedassault on a restaurant-keeper named Laramie. Snecker being obviouslyinnocent, he was discharged. Then this ranger began shouting hisinsults. Law was a farce in Fairdale. The court was a farce. Therewas no law. Your father's office as mayor should be impeached. Hemade arrests only for petty offenses. He was afraid of the rustlers,highwaymen, murderers. He was afraid or--he just let them alone. He usedhis office to cheat ranchers and cattlemen in lawsuits. All this theranger yelled for every 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. "Theserangers are all a low set, many of them worse than the outlaws theyhunt. Some of them were outlaws and gun-fighters before they becamerangers. 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. Hewanted to kill. He would kill. If your father had made the least move hewould have shot him. He's a cold-nerved devil--the born gunman. My God,any instant I expected to see 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 madethat play with Snecker just for a chance to rant against your father. Hetried to inflame all Fairdale against him. That about the lawsuits wasthe worst! Damn him! He'll make us enemies."
"What do you care for the insinuations of such a man?" said RayLongstreth, her voice now deep and rich with feeling. "After a moment'sthought no one will be influenced by them. Do not worry, Floyd. Tellpapa not to worry. Surely after all these years he can't be injured inreputation by--by an adventurer."
"Yes, he can be injured," replied Floyd, quickly. "The frontier is aqueer place. There are many bitter men here--men who have failed atranching. And your father has been wonderfully successful. The rangerhas dropped poison, and it'll spread."