CHAPTER XVIII
Strangers rode into Fairdale; and other hard-looking customers, newto Duane if not to Fairdale, helped to create a charged and waitingatmosphere. The saloons did unusual business and were never closed.Respectable citizens of the town were awakened in the early dawn byrowdies carousing in the streets.
Duane kept pretty close under cover during the day. He did not entertainthe opinion that the first time he walked down-street he would be atarget for guns. Things seldom happened that way; and when they didhappen so, it was more accident than design. But at night he was notidle. He met Laramie, Morton, Zimmer, and others of like character; asecret club had been formed; and all the members were ready for action.Duane spent hours at night watching the house where Floyd Lawson stayedwhen he was not up at Longstreth's. At night he was visited, or at leastthe house was, by strange men who were swift, stealthy, mysterious--allthat kindly disposed friends or neighbors would not have been. Duane hadnot been able to recognize any of these night visitors; and he didnot think the time was ripe for a bold holding-up of one of them.Nevertheless, he was sure such an event would discover Lawson, or someone in that house, to be in touch with crooked men.
Laramie was right. Not twenty-four hours after his last talk with Duane,in which he advised quick action, he was found behind the little bar ofhis restaurant with a bullet-hole in his breast, dead. No one could befound who had heard a shot. It had been deliberate murder, for upon thebar had been left a piece of paper rudely scrawled with a pencil: "Allfriends of rangers look for the same."
This roused Duane. His first move, however, was to bury Laramie. Noneof Laramie's neighbors evinced any interest in the dead man or theunfortunate family he had left. Duane saw that these neighbors were heldin check by fear. Mrs. Laramie was ill; the shock of her husband'sdeath was hard on her; and she had been left almost destitute with fivechildren. Duane rented a small adobe house on the outskirts of town andmoved the family into it. Then he played the part of provider and nurseand friend.
After several days Duane went boldly into town and showed that he meantbusiness. It was his opinion that there were men in Fairdale secretlyglad of a ranger's presence. What he intended to do was food for greatspeculation. A company of militia could not have had the effect upon thewild element of Fairdale that Duane's presence had. It got out that hewas a gunman lightning swift on the draw. It was death to face him. Hehad killed thirty men--wildest rumor of all--it was actually said of himhe had the gun-skill of Buck Duane or of Poggin.
At first there had not only been great conjecture among the viciouselement, but also a very decided checking of all kinds of actioncalculated to be conspicuous to a keen-eyed ranger. At the tables, atthe bars and lounging-places Duane heard the remarks: "Who's thet rangerafter? What'll he do fust off? Is he waitin' fer somebody? Who's goin'to draw on him fust--an' go to hell? Jest about how soon will he befound somewheres full of lead?"
When it came out somewhere that Duane was openly cultivating the honeststay-at-home citizens to array them in time against the other element,then Fairdale showed its wolf-teeth. Several times Duane was shot atin the dark and once slightly injured. Rumor had it that Poggin, thegunman, was coming to meet him. But the lawless element did not rise upin a mass to slay Duane on sight. It was not so much that the enemiesof the law awaited his next move, but just a slowness peculiar tothe frontier. The ranger was in their midst. He was interesting, ifformidable. He would have been welcomed at card-tables, at the bars, toplay and drink with the men who knew they were under suspicion. Therewas a rude kind of good humor even in their open hostility.
Besides, one ranger or a company of rangers could not have held theundivided attention of these men from their games and drinks andquarrels except by some decided move. Excitement, greed, appetite wererife in them. Duane marked, however, a striking exception to the usualrun of strangers he had been in the habit of seeing. Snecker had goneor was under cover. Again Duane caught a vague rumor of the coming ofPoggin, yet he never seemed to arrive. Moreover, the goings-on among thehabitues of the resorts and the cowboys who came in to drink and gamblewere unusually mild in comparison with former conduct. This lull,however, did not deceive Duane. It could not last. The wonder was thatit had lasted so long.
Duane went often to see Mrs. Laramie and her children. One afternoonwhile he was there he saw Miss Longstreth and Ruth ride up to thedoor. They carried a basket. Evidently they had heard of Mrs. Laramie'strouble. Duane felt strangely glad, but he went into an adjoining roomrather than meet them.
"Mrs. Laramie, I've come to see you," said Miss Longstreth, cheerfully.
The little room was not very light, there being only one window andthe doors, but Duane could see plainly enough. Mrs. Laramie lay,hollow-checked and haggard, on a bed. Once she had evidently been awoman of some comeliness. The ravages of trouble and grief were there toread in her worn face; it had not, however, any of the hard and bitterlines that had characterized her husband's.
Duane wondered, considering that Longstreth had ruined Laramie, how Mrs.Laramie was going to regard the daughter of an enemy.
"So you're Granger Longstreth's girl?" queried the woman, with herbright, black eyes fixed on her visitor.
"Yes," replied Miss Longstreth, simply. "This is my cousin, RuthHerbert. We've come to nurse you, take care of the children, help you inany way you'll let us."
There was a long silence.
"Well, you look a little like Longstreth," finally said Mrs. Laramie,"but you're not at ALL like him. You must take after your mother. MissLongstreth, I don't know if I can--if I ought accept anything from you.Your father ruined my husband."
"Yes, I know," replied the girl, sadly. "That's all the more reason youshould let me help you. Pray don't refuse. It will--mean so much to me."
If this poor, stricken woman had any resentment it speedily melted inthe warmth and sweetness of Miss Longstreth's manner. Duane's ideawas that the impression of Ray Longstreth's beauty was always swiftlysucceeded by that of her generosity and nobility. At any rate, she hadstarted well with Mrs. Laramie, and no sooner had she begun to talk tothe children than both they and the mother were won. The opening of thatbig basket was an event. Poor, starved little beggars! Duane's feelingsseemed too easily roused. Hard indeed would it have gone with JimLaramie's slayer if he could have laid eyes on him then. However, MissLongstreth and Ruth, after the nature of tender and practical girls, didnot appear to take the sad situation to heart. The havoc was wrought inthat household.
The needs now were cheerfulness, kindness, help, action--and these thegirls furnished with a spirit that did Duane good.
"Mrs. Laramie, who dressed this baby?" presently asked Miss Longstreth.Duane peeped in to see a dilapidated youngster on her knee. That sight,if any other was needed, completed his full and splendid estimate of RayLongstreth and wrought strangely upon his heart.
"The ranger," replied Mrs. Laramie.
"The ranger!" exclaimed Miss Longstreth.
"Yes, he's taken care of us all since--since--" Mrs. Laramie choked.
"Oh! So you've had no help but his," replied Miss Longstreth, hastily."No women. Too bad! I'll send some one, Mrs. Laramie, and I'll comemyself."
"It'll be good of you," went on the older woman. "You see, Jim hadfew friends--that is, right in town. And they've been afraid to helpus--afraid they'd get what poor Jim--"
"That's awful!" burst out Miss Longstreth, passionately. "A brave lot offriends! Mrs. Laramie, don't you worry any more. We'll take care of you.Here, Ruth, help me. Whatever is the matter with baby's dress?"
Manifestly Miss Longstreth had some difficulty in subduing her emotion.
"Why, it's on hind side before," declared Ruth. "I guess Mr. Rangerhasn't dressed many babies."
"He did the best he could," said Mrs. Laramie. "Lord only knows whatwould have become of us!"
"Then he is--is something more than a ranger?" queried Miss Longstreth,with a little break in her voice.
"He's more than I can tel
l," replied Mrs. Laramie. "He buried Jim. Hepaid our debts. He fetched us here. He bought food for us. He cooked forus and fed us. He washed and dressed the baby. He sat with me the firsttwo nights after Jim's death, when I thought I'd die myself. He's sokind, so gentle, so patient. He has kept me up just by being near.Sometimes I'd wake from a doze, an', seeing him there, I'd know howfalse were all these tales Jim heard about him and believed at first.Why, he plays with the children just--just like any good man might. Whenhe has the baby up I just can't believe he's a bloody gunman, as theysay. He's good, but he isn't happy. He has such sad eyes. He looks faroff sometimes when the children climb round him. They love him. His lifeis sad. Nobody need tell me--he sees the good in things. Once he saidsomebody had to be a ranger. Well, I say, 'Thank God for a ranger likehim!'"
Duane did not want to hear more, so he walked into the room.
"It was thoughtful of you," Duane said. "Womankind are needed here. Icould do so little. Mrs. Laramie, you look better already. I'm glad.And here's baby, all clean and white. Baby, what a time I had trying topuzzle out the way your clothes went on! Well, Mrs. Laramie, didn't Itell you--friends would come? So will the brighter side."
"Yes, I've more faith than I had," replied Mrs. Laramie. "GrangerLongstreth's daughter has come to me. There for a while after Jim'sdeath I thought I'd sink. We have nothing. How could I ever take care ofmy little ones? But I'm gaining courage to--"
"Mrs. Laramie, do not distress yourself any more," said Miss Longstreth."I shall see you are well cared for. I promise you."
"Miss Longstreth, that's fine!" exclaimed Duane. "It's what I'dhave--expected of you."
It must have been sweet praise to her, for the whiteness of her faceburned out in a beautiful blush.
"And it's good of you, too, Miss Herbert, to come," added Duane. "Let methank you both. I'm glad I have you girls as allies in part of my lonelytask here. More than glad for the sake of this good woman and the littleones. But both of you be careful about coming here alone. There'srisk. And now I'll be going. Good-by, Mrs. Laramie. I'll drop in againto-night. Good-by."
"Mr. Ranger, wait!" called Miss Longstreth, as he went out. She waswhite and wonderful. She stepped out of the door close to him.
"I have wronged you," she said, impulsively.
"Miss Longstreth! How can you say that?" he returned.
"I believed what my father and Floyd Lawson said about you. Now I see--Iwronged you."
"You make me very glad. But, Miss Longstreth, please don't speak ofwronging me. I have been a--a gunman, I am a ranger--and much said of meis true. My duty is hard on others--sometimes on those who are innocent,alas! But God knows that duty is hard, too, on me."
"I did wrong you. If you entered my home again I would think it anhonor. I--"
"Please--please don't, Miss Longstreth," interrupted Duane.
"But, sir, my conscience flays me," she went on. There was no othersound like her voice. "Will you take my hand? Will you forgive me?"
She gave it royally, while the other was there pressing at her breast.Duane took the proffered hand. He did not know what else to do.
Then it seemed to dawn upon him that there was more behind this white,sweet, noble intensity of her than just the making amends for a fanciedor real wrong. Duane thought the man did not live on earth who couldhave resisted her then.
"I honor you for your goodness to this unfortunate woman," she said, andnow her speech came swiftly. "When she was all alone and helpless youwere her friend. It was the deed of a man. But Mrs. Laramie isn't theonly unfortunate woman in the world. I, too, am unfortunate. Ah, howI may soon need a friend! Will you be my friend? I'm so alone. I'mterribly worried. I fear--I fear--Oh, surely I'll need a friendsoon--soon. Oh, I'm afraid of what you'll find out sooner or later. Iwant to help you. Let us save life if not honor. Must I stand alone--allalone? Will you--will you be--" Her voice failed.
It seemed to Duane that she must have discovered what he had begun tosuspect--that her father and Lawson were not the honest ranchers theypretended to be. Perhaps she knew more! Her appeal to Duane shook himdeeply. He wanted to help her more than he had ever wanted anything. Andwith the meaning of the tumultuous sweetness she stirred in him therecame realization of a dangerous situation.
"I must be true to my duty," he said, hoarsely.
"If you knew me you'd know I could never ask you to be false to it."
"Well, then--I'll do anything for you."
"Oh, thank you! I'm ashamed that I believed my cousin Floyd! He lied--helied. I'm all in the dark, strangely distressed. My father wants me togo back home. Floyd is trying to keep me here. They've quarreled. Oh, Iknow something dreadful will happen. I know I'll need you if--if--Willyou help me?"
"Yes," replied Duane, and his look brought the blood to her face.