The Lone Star Ranger - Zane Grey (ereader for comics txt) š
- Author: Zane Grey
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Later, when Duane started up announcing his intention to get his horse and make for camp out in the brush, Fletcher seemed grievously offended.
āWhy donāt you stay with me? Iāve got a comfortable ādobe over here. Didnāt I stick by you when Guthrie anā his bunch come up? Supposinā I hednāt showed down a cold hand to him? Youād be swinginā somewheres now. I tell you, Dodge, it aināt square.ā
āIāll square it. I pay my debts,ā replied Duane. āBut I canāt put up here all night. If I belonged to the gang it ād be different.ā
āWhat gang?ā asked Fletcher, bluntly.
āWhy, Cheseldineās.ā
Fletcherās beard nodded as his jaw dropped.
Duane laughed. āI run into him the other day. Knowed him on sight. Sure, heās the king-pin rustler. When he seen me anā asked me what reason I had for beinā on earth or some such likeāwhy, I up anā told him.ā
Fletcher appeared staggered.
āWho in all-fired hell air you talkinā about?ā
āDidnāt I tell you once? Cheseldine. He calls himself Longstreth over there.ā
All of Fletcherās face not covered by hair turned a dirty white. āCheseldineāLongstreth!ā he whispered, hoarsely. āGord Almighty! You braced theāā Then a remarkable transformation came over the outlaw. He gulped; he straightened his face; he controlled his agitation. But he could not send the healthy brown back to his face. Duane, watching this rude man, marveled at the change in him, the sudden checking movement, the proof of a wonderful fear and loyalty. It all meant Cheseldine, a master of men!
āWHO AIR YOU?ā queried Fletcher, in a queer, strained voice.
āYou gave me a handle, didnāt you? Dodge. Thetās as good as any. Shore it hits me hard. Jim, Iāve been pretty lonely for years, anā Iām gettinā in need of pals. Think it over, will you? See you manana.ā
The outlaw watched Duane go off after his horse, watched him as he returned to the tavern, watched him ride out into the darknessāall without a word.
Duane left the town, threaded a quiet passage through cactus and mesquite to a spot he had marked before, and made ready for the night. His mind was so full that he found sleep aloof. Luck at last was playing his game. He sensed the first slow heave of a mighty crisis. The end, always haunting, had to be sternly blotted from thought. It was the approach that needed all his mind.
He passed the night there, and late in the morning, after watching trail and road from a ridge, he returned to Ord. If Jim Fletcher tried to disguise his surprise the effort was a failure. Certainly he had not expected to see Duane again. Duane allowed himself a little freedom with Fletcher, an attitude hitherto lacking.
That afternoon a horseman rode in from Bradford, an outlaw evidently well known and liked by his fellows, and Duane beard him say, before he could possibly have been told the train-robber was in Ord, that the loss of money in the holdup was slight. Like a flash Duane saw the luck of this report. He pretended not to have heard.
In the early twilight at an opportune moment he called Fletcher to him, and, linking his arm within the outlawās, he drew him off in a stroll to a log bridge spanning a little gully. Here after gazing around, he took out a roll of bills, spread it out, split it equally, and without a word handed one half to Fletcher. With clumsy fingers Fletcher ran through the roll.
āFive hundred!ā he exclaimed. āDodge, thetās damn handsome of you, considerinā the job wasnātāā
āConsiderinā nothinā,ā interrupted Duane. āIām makinā no reference to a job here or there. You did me a good turn. I split my pile. If thet doesnāt make us pards, good turns anā money aināt no use in this country.ā
Fletcher was won.
The two men spent much time together. Duane made up a short fictitious history about himself that satisfied the outlaw, only it drew forth a laughing jest upon Duaneās modesty. For Fletcher did not hide his belief that this new partner was a man of achievements. Knell and Poggin, and then Cheseldine himself, would be persuaded of this fact, so Fletcher boasted. He had influence. He would use it. He thought he pulled a stroke with Knell. But nobody on earth, not even the boss, had any influence on Poggin. Poggin was concentrated ice part of the time; all the rest he was bursting hell. But Poggin loved a horse. He never loved anything else. He could be won with that black horse Bullet. Cheseldine was already won by Duaneās monumental nerve; otherwise he would have killed Duane.
Little by little the next few days Duane learned the points he longed to know; and how indelibly they etched themselves in his memory! Cheseldineās hiding-place was on the far slope of Mount Ord, in a deep, high-walled valley. He always went there just before a contemplated job, where he met and planned with his lieutenants. Then while they executed he basked in the sunshine before one or another of the public places he owned. He was there in the Ord den now, getting ready to plan the biggest job yet. It was a bank-robbery; but where, Fletcher had not as yet been advised.
Then when Duane had pumped the now amenable outlaw of all details pertaining to the present he gathered data and facts and places covering a period of ten years Fletcher had been with Cheseldine. And herewith was unfolded a history so dark in its bloody regime, so incredible in its brazen daring, so appalling in its proof of the outlawās sweep and grasp of the country from Pecos to Rio Grande, that Duane was stunned. Compared to this Cheseldine of the Big Bend, to this rancher, stock-buyer, cattle-speculator, property-holder, all the outlaws Duane had ever known sank into insignificance. The power of the man stunned Duane; the strange fidelity given him stunned Duane; the intricate inside working of his great system was equally stunning. But when Duane recovered from that the old terrible passion to kill consumed him, and it raged fiercely and it could not be checked. If that red-handed Poggin, if that cold-eyed, dead-faced Knell had only been at Ord! But they were not, and Duane with help of time got what he hoped was the upper hand of himself.
Again inaction and suspense dragged at Duaneās spirit. Like a leashed hound with a keen scent in his face Duane wanted to leap forth when he was bound. He almost fretted. Something called to him over the bold, wild brow of Mount Ord. But while Fletcher stayed in Ord waiting for Knell and Poggin, or for orders, Duane knew his game was again a waiting one.
But one day there were signs of the long quiet of Ord being broken. A messenger strange to Duane rode in on a secret mission that had to do with Fletcher. When he went away Fletcher became addicted to thoughtful moods and lonely walks. He seldom drank, and this in itself was a striking contrast to former behavior. The messenger came again. Whatever communication he brought, it had a remarkable effect upon the outlaw. Duane was present in the tavern when the fellow arrived, saw the few words whispered, but did not hear them. Fletcher turned white with anger or fear, perhaps both, and he cursed like a madman. The messenger, a lean, dark-faced, hard-riding fellow reminding Duane of the cowboy Guthrie, left the tavern without even a drink and rode away off to the west. This west mystified and fascinated Duane as much as the south beyond Mount Ord. Where were Knell and Poggin? Apparently they were not at present with the leader on the mountain. After the messenger left Fletcher grew silent and surly. He had presented a variety of moods to Duaneās observation, and this latest one was provocative of thought. Fletcher was dangerous. It became clear now that the other outlaws of the camp feared him, kept out of his way. Duane let him alone, yet closely watched him.
Perhaps an hour after the messenger had left, not longer, Fletcher manifestly arrived at some decision, and he called for his horse. Then he went to his shack and returned. To Duane the outlaw looked in shape both to ride and to fight. He gave orders for the men in camp to keep close until he returned. Then he mounted.
āCome here, Dodge,ā he called.
Duane went up and laid a hand on the pommel of the saddle. Fletcher walked his horse, with Duane beside him, till they reached the log bridge, when he halted.
āDodge, Iām in bad with Knell,ā he said. āAnā it āpears Iām the cause of friction between Knell anā Poggy. Knell never had any use fer me, but Poggyās been square, if not friendly. The boss has a big deal on, anā here itās been held up because of this scrap. Heās waitinā over there on the mountain to give orders to Knell or Poggy, anā neither oneās showinā up. Iāve got to stand in the breach, anā I aināt enjoyinā the prospects.ā
āWhatās the trouble about, Jim?ā asked Duane.
āReckon itās a little about you, Dodge,ā said Fletcher, dryly. āKnell hadnāt any use fer you thet day. He aināt got no use fer a man onless he can rule him. Some of the boys here hev blabbed before I edged in with my say, anā thereās hell to pay. Knell claims to know somethinā about you thatāll make both the boss anā Poggy sick when he springs it. But heās keepinā quiet. Hard man to figger, thet Knell. Reckon youād better go back to Bradford fer a day or so, then camp out near here till I come back.ā
āWhy?ā
āWal, because there aināt any use fer you to git in bad, too.ā
āThe gang will ride over here any day. If theyāre friendly, Iāll light a fire on the hill there, say three nights from to-night. If you donāt see it thet night you hit the trail. Iāll do what I can. Jim Fletcher sticks to his pals. So long, Dodge.ā
Then he rode away.
He left Duane in a quandary. This news was black. Things had been working out so well. Here was a setback. At the moment Duane did not know which way to turn, but certainly he had no idea of going back to Bradford. Friction between the two great lieutenants of Cheseldine! Open hostility between one of them and another of the chiefās right-hand men! Among outlaws that sort of thing was deadly serious. Generally such matters were settled with guns. Duane gathered encouragement even from disaster. Perhaps the disintegration of Cheseldineās great band had already begun. But what did Knell know? Duane did not circle around the idea with doubts and hopes; if Knell knew anything it was that this stranger in Ord, this new partner of Fletcherās, was no less than Buck Duane. Well, it was about time, thought Duane, that he made use of his name if it were to help him at all. That name had been MacNellyās hope. He had anchored all his scheme to Duaneās fame. Duane was tempted to ride off after Fletcher and stay with him. This, however, would hardly be fair to an outlaw who had been fair to him. Duane concluded to await developments and when the gang rode in to Ord, probably from their various hiding-places, he would be there ready to be denounced by Knell. Duane could not see any other culmination of this series of events than a meeting between Knell and himself. If that terminated fatally for Knell there was all probability of Duaneās being in no
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