bookssland.com Ā» Western Ā» The Lone Star Ranger - Zane Grey (ereader for comics txt) šŸ“—

Book online Ā«The Lone Star Ranger - Zane Grey (ereader for comics txt) šŸ“—Ā». Author Zane Grey



1 ... 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48
Go to page:
been worse than dead was now grasping at the skirts of lifeā€”which meant victory, honor, happiness. Duane knew he was not just right in part of his mind. Small wonder that he was not insane, he thought! He tramped on downward, his marvelous faculty for covering rough ground and holding to the true course never before even in flight so keen and acute. Yet all the time a spirit was keeping step with him. Thought of Ray Longstreth as he had left her made him weak. But now, with the game clear to its end, with the trap to spring, with success strangely haunting him, Duane could not dispel memory of her. He saw her white face, with its sweet sad lips and the dark eyes so tender and tragic. And time and distance and risk and toil were nothing.

The moon sloped to the west. Shadows of trees and crags now crossed to the other side of him. The stars dimmed. Then he was out of the rocks, with the dim trail pale at his feet. Mounting Bullet, he made short work of the long slope and the foothills and the rolling land leading down to Ord. The little outlaw camp, with its shacks and cabins and row of houses, lay silent and dark under the paling moon. Duane passed by on the lower trail, headed into the road, and put Bullet to a gallop. He watched the dying moon, the waning stars, and the east. He had time to spare, so he saved the horse. Knell would be leaving the rendezvous about the time Duane turned back toward Ord. Between noon and sunset they would meet.

The night wore on. The moon sank behind low mountains in the west. The stars brightened for a while, then faded. Gray gloom enveloped the world, thickened, lay like smoke over the road. Then shade by shade it lightened, until through the transparent obscurity shone a dim light.

Duane reached Bradford before dawn. He dismounted some distance from the tracks, tied his horse, and then crossed over to the station. He heard the clicking of the telegraph instrument, and it thrilled him. An operator sat inside reading. When Duane tapped on the window he looked up with startled glance, then went swiftly to unlock the door.

ā€œHello. Give me paper and pencil. Quick,ā€ whispered Duane.

With trembling hands the operator complied. Duane wrote out the message he had carefully composed.

ā€œSend thisā€”repeat it to make sureā€”then keep mum. Iā€™ll see you again. Good-by.ā€

The operator stared, but did not speak a word.

Duane left as stealthily and swiftly as he had come. He walked his horse a couple miles back on the road and then rested him till break of day. The east began to redden, Duane turned grimly in the direction of Ord.

When Duane swung into the wide, grassy square on the outskirts of Ord he saw a bunch of saddled horses hitched in front of the tavern. He knew what that meant. Luck still favored him. If it would only hold! But he could ask no more. The rest was a matter of how greatly he could make his power felt. An open conflict against odds lay in the balance. That would be fatal to him, and to avoid it he had to trust to his name and a presence he must make terrible. He knew outlaws. He knew what qualities held them. He knew what to exaggerate.

There was not an outlaw in sight. The dusty horses had covered distance that morning. As Duane dismounted he heard loud, angry voices inside the tavern. He removed coat and vest, hung them over the pommel. He packed two guns, one belted high on the left hip, the other swinging low on the right side. He neither looked nor listened, but boldly pushed the door and stepped inside.

The big room was full of men, and every face pivoted toward him. Knellā€™s pale face flashed into Duaneā€™s swift sight; then Boldtā€™s, then Blossom Kaneā€™s, then Panhandle Smithā€™s, then Fletcherā€™s, then others that were familiar, and last that of Poggin. Though Duane had never seen Poggin or heard him described, he knew him. For he saw a face that was a record of great and evil deeds.

There was absolute silence. The outlaws were lined back of a long table upon which were papers, stacks of silver coin, a bundle of bills, and a huge gold-mounted gun.

ā€œAre you gents lookinā€™ for me?ā€ asked Duane. He gave his voice all the ringing force and power of which he was capable. And he stepped back, free of anything, with the outlaws all before him.

Knell stood quivering, but his face might have been a mask. The other outlaws looked from him to Duane. Jim Fletcher flung up his hands.

ā€œMy Gawd, Dodge, whatā€™d you bust in here fer?ā€ he said, plaintively, and slowly stepped forward. His action was that of a man true to himself. He meant he had been sponsor for Duane and now he would stand by him.

ā€œBack, Fletcher!ā€ called Duane, and his voice made the outlaw jump.

ā€œHold on, Dodge, anā€™ you-all, everybody,ā€ said Fletcher. ā€œLet me talk, seeinā€™ Iā€™m in wrong here.ā€

His persuasions did not ease the strain.

ā€œGo ahead. Talk,ā€ said Poggin.

Fletcher turned to Duane. ā€œPard, Iā€™m takinā€™ it on myself thet you meet enemies here when I swore youā€™d meet friends. Itā€™s my fault. Iā€™ll stand by you if you let me.ā€

ā€œNo, Jim,ā€ replied Duane.

ā€œBut whatā€™d you come fer without the signal?ā€ burst out Fletcher, in distress. He saw nothing but catastrophe in this meeting.

ā€œJim, I ainā€™t pressinā€™ my company none. But when Iā€™m wanted badā€”ā€

Fletcher stopped him with a raised hand. Then he turned to Poggin with a rude dignity.

ā€œPoggy, heā€™s my pard, anā€™ heā€™s riled. I never told him a word thetā€™d make him sore. I only said Knell hadnā€™t no more use fer him than fer me. Now, what you say goes in this gang. I never failed you in my life. Hereā€™s my pard. I vouch fer him. Will you stand fer me? Thereā€™s goinā€™ to be hell if you donā€™t. Anā€™ us with a big job on hand!ā€

While Fletcher toiled over his slow, earnest persuasion Duane had his gaze riveted upon Poggin. There was something leonine about Poggin. He was tawny. He blazed. He seemed beautiful as fire was beautiful. But looked at closer, with glance seeing the physical man, instead of that thing which shone from him, he was of perfect build, with muscles that swelled and rippled, bulging his clothes, with the magnificent head and face of the cruel, fierce, tawny-eyed jaguar.

Looking at this strange Poggin, instinctively divining his abnormal and hideous power, Duane had for the first time in his life the inward quaking fear of a man. It was like a cold-tongued bell ringing within him and numbing his heart. The old instinctive firing of blood followed, but did not drive away that fear. He knew. He felt something here deeper than thought could go. And he hated Poggin.

That individual had been considering Fletcherā€™s appeal.

ā€œJim, I ante up,ā€ he said, ā€œanā€™ if Phil doesnā€™t raise us out with a big handā€”why, heā€™ll get called, anā€™ your pard can set in the game.ā€

Every eye shifted to Knell. He was dead white. He laughed, and any one hearing that laugh would have realized his intense anger equally with an assurance which made him master of the situation.

ā€œPoggin, youā€™re a gambler, you areā€”the ace-high, straight-flush hand of the Big Bend,ā€ he said, with stinging scorn. ā€œIā€™ll bet you my roll to a greaser peso that I can deal you a hand youā€™ll be afraid to play.ā€

ā€œPhil, youā€™re talkinā€™ wild,ā€ growled Poggin, with both advice and menace in his tone.

ā€œIf thereā€™s anythinā€™ you hate itā€™s a man who pretends to be somebody else when heā€™s not. Thet so?ā€

Poggin nodded in slow-gathering wrath.

ā€œWell, Jimā€™s new pardā€”this man Dodgeā€”heā€™s not who he seems. Oh-ho! Heā€™s a hell of a lot different. But I_ know him. Anā€™ when I spring his name on you, Poggin, youā€™ll freeze to your gizzard. Do you get me? Youā€™ll freeze, anā€™ your handā€™ll be stiff when it ought to be lightninā€™ā€”All because youā€™ll realize youā€™ve been standinā€™ there five minutesā€”five minutes ALIVE before him!ā€

If not hate, then assuredly great passion toward Poggin manifested itself in Knellā€™s scornful, fiery address, in the shaking hand he thrust before Pogginā€™s face. In the ensuing silent pause Knellā€™s panting could be plainly heard. The other men were pale, watchful, cautiously edging either way to the wall, leaving the principals and Duane in the center of the room.

ā€œSpring his name, then, youā€”ā€ said Poggin, violently, with a curse.

Strangely Knell did not even look at the man he was about to denounce. He leaned toward Poggin, his hands, his body, his long head all somewhat expressive of what his face disguised.

ā€œBUCK DUANE!ā€ he yelled, suddenly.

The name did not make any great difference in Poggin. But Knellā€™s passionate, swift utterance carried the suggestion that the name ought to bring Poggin to quick action. It was possible, too, that Knellā€™s manner, the import of his denunciation the meaning back of all his passion held Poggin bound more than the surprise. For the outlaw certainly was surprised, perhaps staggered at the idea that he, Poggin, had been about to stand sponsor with Fletcher for a famous outlaw hated and feared by all outlaws.

Knell waited a long moment, and then his face broke its cold immobility in an extraordinary expression of devilish glee. He had hounded the great Poggin into something that gave him vicious, monstrous joy.

ā€œBUCK DUANE! Yes,ā€ he broke out, hotly. ā€œThe Nueces gunman! That two-shot, ace-of-spades lone wolf! You anā€™ Iā€”weā€™ve heard a thousand times of himā€”talked about him often. Anā€™ here he IN FRONT of you! Poggin, you were backinā€™ Fletcherā€™s new pard, Buck Duane. Anā€™ heā€™d fooled you both but for me. But I know him. Anā€™ I know why he drifted in here. To flash a gun on Cheseldineā€”on youā€”on me! Bah! Donā€™t tell me he wanted to join the gang. You know a gunman, for youā€™re one yourself. Donā€™t you always want to kill another man? Anā€™ donā€™t you always want to meet a real man, not a fourflush? Itā€™s the madness of the gunman, anā€™ I know it. Well, Duane faced youā€”called you! Anā€™ when I sprung his name, what ought you have done? What would the bossā€”anybodyā€”have expected of Poggin? Did you throw your gun, swift, like you have so often? Naw; you froze. Anā€™ why? Because hereā€™s a man with the kind of nerve youā€™d love to have. Because heā€™s greatā€”meetinā€™ us here alone. Because you know heā€™s a wonder with a gun anā€™ you love life. Because you anā€™ I anā€™ every damned man here had to take his front, each to himself. If we all drew weā€™d kill him. Sure! But whoā€™s goinā€™ to lead? Who was goinā€™ to be first? Who was goinā€™ to make him draw? Not you, Poggin! You leave that for a lesser manā€”meā€”whoā€™ve lived to see you a coward. It comes once to every gunman. Youā€™ve met your match in Buck Duane. Anā€™, by God, Iā€™m glad! Hereā€™s once I show you up!ā€

The hoarse, taunting voice failed. Knell stepped back from the comrade he hated. He was wet, shaking, haggard, but magnificent.

ā€œBuck Duane, do you remember Hardin?ā€ he asked, in scarcely audible voice.

ā€œYes,ā€ replied Duane, and a flash of insight made clear Knellā€™s attitude.

ā€œYou met himā€”forced him to drawā€”killed him?ā€

ā€œYes.ā€

ā€œHardin was the best pard I ever had.ā€

His teeth clicked together tight, and his lips set in a thin line.

The room grew still. Even breathing ceased. The time for words had passed. In that long moment of suspense

1 ... 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48
Go to page:

Free e-book Ā«The Lone Star Ranger - Zane Grey (ereader for comics txt) šŸ“—Ā» - read online now

Comments (0)

There are no comments yet. You can be the first!
Add a comment