The Lone Star Ranger: A Romance of the Border by Zane Grey (good inspirational books TXT) 📗

“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 corded with purple welts, malignant, murderous. Duane kicked the gun out of his hand. 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 gang right 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 he is he'll begin thet secret underground bizness. Why, Lawson won't sleep of nights now. He an' Longstreth have always been after me.”

“Laramie, what are your eyes for?” demanded Duane. “Watch out. And now here. See your friend Morton. Tell him this game grows hot. Together you approach four or five men you know well and can absolutely trust. I may need your help.”

Then Duane went from place to place, corner to corner, bar to bar, watching, listening, recording. The excitement had preceded him, and speculation was rife. He thought best to keep out of it. After dark he stole up to Longstreth's ranch. The evening was warm; the doors were open; and in the twilight the only lamps that had been lit were in Longstreth's big sitting-room, at the far end of the house. When a buckboard drove up and Longstreth and Lawson alighted, Duane was well hidden in the bushes, so well screened that he could get but a fleeting glimpse of Longstreth as he went in. For all Duane could see, he appeared to be a calm and quiet man, intense beneath the surface, with an air of dignity under insult. Duane's chance to observe Lawson was lost. They went into the house without speaking and closed the door.

At the other end of the porch, close under a window, was an offset between step and wall, and there in the shadow Duane hid. So Duane waited 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 seemed pale, worried.”

“Cousin Floyd looked like a thunder-cloud,” said Ruth. “For once he didn't try to kiss me. Something's happened. Well, Ray, this had been a bad day.”

“Oh, dear! Ruth, what can we do? These are wild men. Floyd makes life miserable 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 when he'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 as he 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'll tell you-all about it.” He coughed, cleared his throat in a way that betrayed he had been drinking.

Duane sunk deeper into the shadow of his covert, and, stiffening his muscles for a protected spell of rigidity, prepared to listen with all acuteness and intensity. Just one word from this Lawson, inadvertently uttered in a moment of passion, might be the word Duane needed for his clue.

“It happened at the town hall,” began Lawson, rapidly. “Your father and Judge Owens and I were there in consultation with three ranchers from out of town. Then that damned ranger stalked in dragging Snecker, the fellow who hid here in the house. He had arrested Snecker for alleged assault on a restaurant-keeper named Laramie. Snecker being obviously innocent, he was discharged. Then this ranger began shouting his insults. Law was a farce in Fairdale. The court was a farce. There was no law. Your father's office as mayor should be impeached. He made arrests only for petty offenses. He was afraid of the rustlers, highwaymen, murderers. He was afraid or—he just let them alone. He used his office to cheat ranchers and cattlemen in lawsuits. All this the ranger 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. “These rangers are all a low set, many of them worse than the outlaws they hunt. Some of them were outlaws and gun-fighters before they became rangers. 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. He wanted to kill. He would kill. If your father had made the least move he would 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 made that play with Snecker just for a chance to rant against your father. He tried to inflame all Fairdale against him. That about the lawsuits was the worst! Damn him! He'll make us enemies.”

“What do you care for the insinuations of such a man?” said Ray Longstreth, her voice now deep and rich with feeling. “After a moment's thought no one will be influenced by them. Do not worry, Floyd. Tell papa not to worry. Surely after all these years he can't be injured in reputation by—by an adventurer.”

“Yes, he can be injured,” replied Floyd, quickly. “The frontier is a queer place. There are many bitter men here—men who have failed at ranching. And your father has been wonderfully successful. The ranger has dropped poison, and it'll spread.”