The Lone Star Ranger - Zane Grey (ereader for comics txt) š
- Author: Zane Grey
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Here it struck Duane againāthat something human and kind and eager which he had seen in Stevens. Duaneās estimate of outlaws had lacked this quality. He had not accorded them any virtues. To him, as to the outside world, they had been merely vicious men without one redeeming feature.
āIām much obliged to you, Euchre,ā replied Duane. āBut of course I wonāt live with any one unless I can pay my share.ā
āHave it any way you like, my son,ā said Euchre, good-humoredly. āYou make a fire, anā Iāll set about gettinā grub. Iām a sourdough, Buck. Thet man doesnāt live who can beat my bread.ā
āHow do you ever pack supplies in here?ā asked Duane, thinking of the almost inaccessible nature of the valley.
āSome comes across from Mexico, anā the rest down the river. Thet river trip is a bird. Itās moreān five hundred miles to any supply point. Bland has mozos, greaser boatmen. Sometimes, too, he gets supplies in from down-river. You see, Bland sells thousands of cattle in Cuba. Anā all this stock has to go down by boat to meet the ships.ā
āWhere on earth are the cattle driven down to the river?ā asked Duane.
āThetās not my secret,ā replied Euchre, shortly. āFact is, I donāt know. Iāve rustled cattle for Bland, but he never sent me through the Rim Rock with them.ā
Duane experienced a sort of pleasure in the realization that interest had been stirred in him. He was curious about Bland and his gang, and glad to have something to think about. For every once in a while he had a sensation that was almost like a pang. He wanted to forget. In the next hour he did forget, and enjoyed helping in the preparation and eating of the meal. Euchre, after washing and hanging up the several utensils, put on his hat and turned to go out.
āCome along or stay here, as you want,ā he said to Duane.
āIāll stay,ā rejoined Duane, slowly.
The old outlaw left the room and trudged away, whistling cheerfully.
Duane looked around him for a book or paper, anything to read; but all the printed matter he could find consisted of a few words on cartridge-boxes and an advertisement on the back of a tobacco-pouch. There seemed to be nothing for him to do. He had rested; he did not want to lie down any more. He began to walk to and fro, from one end of the room to the other. And as he walked he fell into the lately acquired habit of brooding over his misfortune.
Suddenly he straightened up with a jerk. Unconsciously he had drawn his gun. Standing there with the bright cold weapon in his hand, he looked at it in consternation. How had he come to draw it? With difficulty he traced his thoughts backward, but could not find any that was accountable for his act. He discovered, however, that he had a remarkable tendency to drop his hand to his gun. That might have come from the habit long practice in drawing had given him. Likewise, it might have come from a subtle sense, scarcely thought of at all, of the late, close, and inevitable relation between that weapon and himself. He was amazed to find that, bitter as he had grown at fate, the desire to live burned strong in him. If he had been as unfortunately situated, but with the difference that no man wanted to put him in jail or take his life, he felt that this burning passion to be free, to save himself, might not have been so powerful. Life certainly held no bright prospects for him. Already he had begun to despair of ever getting back to his home. But to give up like a white-hearted coward, to let himself be handcuffed and jailed, to run from a drunken, bragging cowboy, or be shot in cold blood by some border brute who merely wanted to add another notch to his gunāthese things were impossible for Duane because there was in him the temper to fight. In that hour he yielded only to fate and the spirit inborn in him. Hereafter this gun must be a living part of him. Right then and there he returned to a practice he had long discontinuedāthe draw. It was now a stern, bitter, deadly business with him. He did not need to fire the gun, for accuracy was a gift and had become assured. Swiftness on the draw, however, could be improved, and he set himself to acquire the limit of speed possible to any man. He stood still in his tracks; he paced the room; he sat down, lay down, put himself in awkward positions; and from every position he practiced throwing his gunāpracticed it till he was hot and tired and his arm ached and his hand burned. That practice he determined to keep up every day. It was one thing, at least, that would help pass the weary hours.
Later he went outdoors to the cooler shade of the cottonwoods. From this point he could see a good deal of the valley. Under different circumstances Duane felt that he would have enjoyed such a beautiful spot. Euchreās shack sat against the first rise of the slope of the wall, and Duane, by climbing a few rods, got a view of the whole valley. Assuredly it was an outlaw settle meet. He saw a good many Mexicans, who, of course, were hand and glove with Bland. Also he saw enormous flat-boats, crude of structure, moored along the banks of the river. The Rio Grande rolled away between high bluffs. A cable, sagging deep in the middle, was stretched over the wide yellow stream, and an old scow, evidently used as a ferry, lay anchored on the far shore.
The valley was an ideal retreat for an outlaw band operating on a big scale. Pursuit scarcely need be feared over the broken trails of the Rim Rock. And the open end of the valley could be defended against almost any number of men coming down the river. Access to Mexico was easy and quick. What puzzled Duane was how Bland got cattle down to the river, and he wondered if the rustler really did get rid of his stolen stock by use of boats.
Duane must have idled considerable time up on the hill, for when he returned to the shack Euchre was busily engaged around the camp-fire.
āWal, glad to see you aināt so pale about the gills as you was,ā he said, by way of greeting. āPitch in anā weāll soon have grub ready. Thereās shore one consolinā fact round this here camp.ā
āWhatās that?ā asked Duane.
āPlenty of good juicy beef to eat. Anā it doesnāt cost a short bit.ā
āBut it costs hard rides and trouble, bad conscience, and life, too, doesnāt it?ā
āI aināt shore about the bad conscience. Mine never bothered me none. Anā as for life, why, thetās cheap in Texas.ā
āWho is Bland?ā asked Duane, quickly changing the subject. āWhat do you know about him?ā
āWe donāt know who he is or where he hails from,ā replied Euchre. āThetās always been somethinā to interest the gang. He must have been a young man when he struck Texas. Now heās middle-aged. I remember how years ago he was soft-spoken anā not rough in talk or act like he is now. Bland aināt likely his right name. He knows a lot. He can doctor you, anā heās shore a knowinā feller with tools. Heās the kind thet rules men. Outlaws are always ridinā in here to join his gang, anā if it hadnāt been fer the gamblinā anā gunplay heād have a thousand men around him.ā
āHow many in his gang now?ā
āI reckon thereās short of a hundred now. The number varies. Then Bland has several small camps up anā down the river. Also he has men back on the cattle-ranges.ā
āHow does he control such a big force?ā asked Duane. āEspecially when his bandās composed of bad men. Luke Stevens said he had no use for Bland. And I heard once somewhere that Bland was a devil.ā
āThetās it. He is a devil. Heās as hard as flint, violent in temper, never made any friends except his right-hand men, Dave Rugg anā Chess Alloway. Blandāll shoot at a wink. Heās killed a lot of fellers, anā some fer nothinā. The reason thet outlaws gather round him anā stick is because heās a safe refuge, anā then heās well heeled. Bland is rich. They say he has a hundred thousand pesos hid somewhere, anā lots of gold. But heās free with money. He gambles when heās not off with a shipment of cattle. He throws money around. Anā the fact is thereās always plenty of money where he is. Thetās what holds the gang. Dirty, bloody money!ā
āItās a wonder he hasnāt been killed. All these years on the border!ā exclaimed Duane.
āWal,ā replied Euchre, dryly, āheās been quicker on the draw than the other fellers who hankered to kill him, thetās all.ā
Euchreās reply rather chilled Duaneās interest for the moment. Such remarks always made his mind revolve round facts pertaining to himself.
āSpeakinā of this here swift wrist game,ā went on Euchre, āthereās been considerable talk in camp about your throwinā of a gun. You know, Buck, thet among us fellersāus hunted menāthere aināt anythinā calculated to rouse respect like a slick hand with a gun. I heard Bland say this afternoonāanā he said it serious-like anā speculativeāthet heād never seen your equal. He was watchinā of you close, he said, anā just couldnāt follow your hand when you drawed. All the fellers who seen you meet Bosomer had somethinā to say. Bo was about as handy with a gun as any man in this camp, barrinā Chess Alloway anā mebbe Bland himself. Chess is the captain with a Coltāor he was. Anā he shore didnāt like the references made about your speed. Bland was honest in acknowledginā it, but he didnāt like it, neither. Some of the fellers allowed your draw might have been just accident. But most of them figgered different. Anā they all shut up when Bland told who anā what your Dad was. āPears to me I once seen your Dad in a gunscrape over at Santone, years ago. Wal, I put my oar in to-day among the fellers, anā I says: āWhat ails you locoed gents? Did young Duane budge an inch when Bo came roarinā out, blood in his eye? Wasnāt he cool anā quiet, steady of lips, anā werenāt his eyes readinā Boās mind? Anā thet lightninā drawācanāt you-all see thetās a family gift?ā ā
Euchreās narrow eyes twinkled, and he gave the dough he was rolling a slap with his flour-whitened hand. Manifestly he had proclaimed himself a champion and partner of Duaneās, with all the pride an old man could feel in a young one whom he admired.
āWal,ā he resumed, presently, āthetās your introduction to the border, Buck. Anā your card was a high trump. Youāll be let severely alone by real gunfighters anā men like Bland, Alloway, Rugg, anā the bosses of the other gangs. After all, these real men are men, you know, anā onless you cross them theyāre no more likely to interfere with you than you are with them. But thereās a sight of fellers like Bosomer in the river country. Theyāll all want your game. Anā every town you ride into will scare up some cowpuncher full of booze or a long-haired fourflush gunman or a sheriffāanā these men will be playinā to the crowd anā yellinā for your blood. Thetās the Texas of it. Youāll have to hide fer ever in the brakes or youāll have to KILL such men. Buck, I reckon this aināt cheerful news to a decent chap like you. Iām only tellinā you because Iāve
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