The Lone Star Ranger - Zane Grey (ereader for comics txt) 📗

of fancy or imagination had troubled him, pained him, made him sleepless and sick.

That morning Duane spent an unhappy hour wrestling decision out of the unstable condition of his mind. But at length he determined to create interest in all that he came across and so forget himself as much as possible. He had an opportunity now to see just what the outlaw’s life really was. He meant to force himself to be curious, sympathetic, clear-sighted. And he would stay there in the valley until its possibilities had been exhausted or until circumstances sent him out upon his uncertain way.

When he returned to the shack Euchre was cooking dinner.

“Say, Buck, I’ve news for you,” he said; and his tone conveyed either pride in his possession of such news or pride in Duane. “Feller named Bradley rode in this mornin’. He’s heard some about you. Told about the ace of spades they put over the bullet holes in thet cowpuncher Bain you plugged. Then there was a rancher shot at a waterhole twenty miles south of Wellston. Reckon you didn’t do it?”

“No, I certainly did not,” replied Duane.

“Wal, you get the blame. It ain’t nothin’ for a feller to be saddled with gunplays he never made. An’, Buck, if you ever get famous, as seems likely, you’ll be blamed for many a crime. The border’ll make an outlaw an’ murderer out of you. Wal, thet’s enough of thet. I’ve more news. You’re goin’ to be popular.”

“Popular? What do you mean?”

“I met Bland’s wife this mornin’. She seen you the other day when you rode in. She shore wants to meet you, an’ so do some of the other women in camp. They always want to meet the new fellers who’ve just come in. It’s lonesome for women here, an’ they like to hear news from the towns.”

“Well, Euchre, I don’t want to be impolite, but I’d rather not meet any women,” rejoined Duane.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t. Don’t blame you much. Women are hell. I was hopin’, though, you might talk a little to thet poor lonesome kid.”

“What kid?” inquired Duane, in surprise.

“Didn’t I tell you about Jennie—the girl Bland’s holdin’ here—the one Jackrabbit Benson had a hand in stealin’?”

“You mentioned a girl. That’s all. Tell me now,” replied Duane, abruptly.

“Wal, I got it this way. Mebbe it’s straight, an’ mebbe it ain’t. Some years ago Benson made a trip over the river to buy mescal an’ other drinks. He’ll sneak over there once in a while. An’ as I get it he run across a gang of greasers with some gringo prisoners. I don’t know, but I reckon there was some barterin’, perhaps murderin’. Anyway, Benson fetched the girl back. She was more dead than alive. But it turned out she was only starved an’ scared half to death. She hadn’t been harmed. I reckon she was then about fourteen years old. Benson’s idee, he said, was to use her in his den sellin’ drinks an’ the like. But I never went much on Jackrabbit’s word. Bland seen the kid right off and took her—bought her from Benson. You can gamble Bland didn’t do thet from notions of chivalry. I ain’t gainsayin, however, but thet Jennie was better off with Kate Bland. She’s been hard on Jennie, but she’s kept Bland an’ the other men from treatin’ the kid shameful. Late Jennie has growed into an all-fired pretty girl, an’ Kate is powerful jealous of her. I can see hell brewin’ over there in Bland’s cabin. Thet’s why I wish you’d come over with me. Bland’s hardly ever home. His wife’s invited you. Shore, if she gets sweet on you, as she has on—Wal, thet ‘d complicate matters. But you’d get to see Jennie, an’ mebbe you could help her. Mind, I ain’t hintin’ nothin’. I’m just wantin’ to put her in your way. You’re a man an’ can think fer yourself. I had a baby girl once, an’ if she’d lived she be as big as Jennie now, an’, by Gawd, I wouldn’t want her here in Bland’s camp.”

“I’ll go, Euchre. Take me over,” replied Duane. He felt Euchre’s eyes upon him. The old outlaw, however, had no more to say.

In the afternoon Euchre set off with Duane, and soon they reached Bland’s cabin. Duane remembered it as the one where he had seen the pretty woman watching him ride by. He could not recall what she looked like. The cabin was the same as the other adobe structures in the valley, but it was larger and pleasantly located rather high up in a grove of cottonwoods. In the windows and upon the porch were evidences of a woman’s hand. Through the open door Duane caught a glimpse of bright Mexican blankets and rugs.

Euchre knocked upon the side of the door.

“Is that you, Euchre?” asked a girl’s voice, low, hesitatingly. The tone of it, rather deep and with a note of fear, struck Duane. He wondered what she would be like.

“Yes, it’s me, Jennie. Where’s Mrs. Bland?” answered Euchre.

“She went over to Deger’s. There’s somebody sick,” replied the girl.

Euchre turned and whispered something about luck. The snap of the outlaw’s eyes was added significance to Duane.

“Jennie, come out or let us come in. Here’s the young man I was tellin’ you about,” Euchre said.

“Oh, I can’t! I look so—so—”

“Never mind how you look,” interrupted the outlaw, in a whisper. “It ain’t no time to care fer thet. Here’s young Duane. Jennie, he’s no rustler, no thief. He’s different. Come out, Jennie, an’ mebbe he’ll—”

Euchre did not complete his sentence. He had spoken low, with his glance shifting from side to side.

But what he said was sufficient to bring the girl quickly. She appeared in the doorway with downcast eyes and a stain of red in her white cheek. She had a pretty, sad face and bright hair.

“Don’t be bashful, Jennie,” said Euchre. “You an’ Duane have a chance to talk a little. Now I’ll go fetch Mrs. Bland, but I won’t be hurryin’.”

With that Euchre went away through the cottonwoods.

“I’m glad to meet you, Miss—Miss Jennie,” said Duane. “Euchre didn’t mention your last name. He asked me to come over to—”

Duane’s attempt at pleasantry halted short when Jennie lifted her lashes to look at him. Some kind of a shock went through Duane. Her gray eyes were beautiful, but it had not been beauty that cut short his speech. He seemed to see a tragic struggle between hope and doubt that shone in her piercing gaze. She kept looking, and Duane could not break the silence. It was no ordinary moment.

“What did you come here for?” she asked, at last.

“To see you,” replied Duane, glad to speak.

“Why?”

“Well—Euchre thought—he wanted me to talk to you, cheer you up a bit,” replied Duane, somewhat lamely. The earnest eyes embarrassed him.

“Euchre’s good. He’s the only person in this awful place who’s been good to me. But he’s afraid of Bland. He said you were different. Who are you?”

Duane told her.

“You’re not a robber or rustler or murderer or some bad man come here to hide?”

“No, I’m not,” replied Duane, trying to smile.

“Then why are you here?”

“I’m on the dodge. You know what that means. I got in a shooting-scrape at home and had to run off. When it blows over I hope to go back.”

“But you can’t be honest here?”

“Yes, I can.”

“Oh, I know what these outlaws are. Yes, you’re different.” She kept the strained gaze upon him, but hope was kindling, and the hard lines of her youthful face were softening.

Something sweet and warm stirred deep in Duane as he realized the unfortunate girl was experiencing a birth of trust in him.

“O God! Maybe you’re the man to save me—to take me away before it’s too later”

Duane’s spirit leaped.

“Maybe I am,” he replied, instantly.

She seemed to check a blind impulse to run into his arms. Her cheek flamed, her lips quivered, her bosom swelled under her ragged dress. Then the glow began to fade; doubt once more assailed her.

“It can’t be. You’re only—after me, too, like Bland—like all of them.”

Duane’s long arms went out and his hands clasped her shoulders. He shook her.

“Look at me—straight in the eye. There are decent men. Haven’t you a father—a brother?”

“They’re dead—killed by raiders. We lived in Dimmit County. I was carried away,” Jennie replied, hurriedly. She put up an appealing hand to him. “Forgive me. I believe—I know you’re good. It was only—I live so much in fear—I’m half crazy—I’ve almost forgotten what good men are like, Mister Duane, you’ll help me?”

“Yes, Jennie, I will. Tell me how. What must I do? Have you any plan?”

“Oh no. But take me away.”

“I’ll try,” said Duane, simply. “That won’t be easy, though. I must have time to think. You must help me. There are many things to consider. Horses, food, trails, and then the best time to make the attempt. Are you watched—kept prisoner?”

“No. I could have run off lots of times. But I was afraid. I’d only have fallen into worse hands. Euchre has told me that. Mrs. Bland beats me, half starves me, but she has kept me from her husband and these other dogs. She’s been as good as that, and I’m grateful. She hasn’t done it for love of me, though. She always hated me. And lately she’s growing jealous. There was’ a man came here by the name of Spence—so he called himself. He tried to be kind to me. But she wouldn’t let him. She was in love with him. She’s a bad woman. Bland finally shot Spence, and that ended that. She’s been jealous ever since. I hear her fighting with Bland about me. She swears she’ll kill me before he gets me. And Bland laughs in her face. Then I’ve heard Chess Alloway try to persuade Bland to give me to him. But Bland doesn’t laugh then. Just lately before Bland went away things almost came to a head. I couldn’t sleep. I wished Mrs. Bland would kill me. I’ll certainly kill myself if they ruin me. Duane, you must be quick if you’d save me.”

“I realize that,” replied he, thoughtfully. “I think my difficulty will be to fool Mrs. Bland. If she suspected me she’d have the whole gang of outlaws on me at once.”

“She would that. You’ve got to be careful—and quick.”

“What kind of woman is she?” inquired Duane.

“She’s—she’s brazen. I’ve heard her with her lovers. They get drunk sometimes when Bland’s away. She’s got a terrible temper. She’s vain. She likes flattery. Oh, you could fool her easy enough if you’d lower yourself to—to—”

“To make love to her?” interrupted Duane.

Jennie bravely turned shamed eyes to meet his.

“My girl, I’d do worse than that to get you away from here,” he said, bluntly.

“But—Duane,” she faltered, and again she put out the appealing hand. “Bland will kill you.”

Duane made no reply to this. He was trying to still a rising strange tumult in his breast. The old emotion—the rush of an instinct to kill! He turned cold all over.

“Chess Alloway will kill you if Bland doesn’t,” went on Jennie, with her tragic eyes on Duane’s.

“Maybe he will,” replied Duane. It was difficult for him to force a smile. But he achieved one.

“Oh, better take me off at once,” she said. “Save me without risking so much—without making love to Mrs. Bland!”

“Surely, if I can. There! I see Euchre coming with a woman.”

“That’s her. Oh, she mustn’t see me with you.”

“Wait—a moment,” whispered Duane, as Jennie slipped indoors. “We’ve settled it. Don’t forget. I’ll find some way to