The Lone Star Ranger by Zane Grey (red white and royal blue hardcover .txt) 📖

rough-looking men here. I’ve just seen them. They mean evil. Tell your father to be careful. Lock your doors—bar your windows to-night.”

“Oh!” cried Ruth, very low. “Ray, do you hear?”

“Thank you; we’ll be careful,” said Miss Longstreth, gracefully. The rich color had faded in her cheek. “I saw those men watching you from that door. They had such bright black eyes. Is there really danger—here?”

“I think so,” was Duane’s reply.

Soft swift steps behind him preceded a harsh voice: “Hands up!”

No man quicker than Duane to recognize the intent in those words! His hands shot up. Miss Ruth uttered a little frightened cry and sank into her chair. Miss Longstreth turned white, her eyes dilated. Both girls were staring at some one behind Duane.

“Turn around!” ordered the harsh voice.

The big, dark stranger, the bearded one who had whispered to his comrade in the bar-room and asked Duane to drink, had him covered with a cocked gun. He strode forward, his eyes gleaming, pressed the gun against him, and with his other hand dove into his inside coat pocket and tore out his roll of bills. Then he reached low at Duane’s hip, felt his gun, and took it. Then he slapped the other hip, evidently in search of another weapon. That done, he backed away, wearing an expression of fiendish satisfaction that made Duane think he was only a common thief, a novice at this kind of game.

His comrade stood in the door with a gun leveled at two other men, who stood there frightened, speechless.

“Git a move on, Bill,” called this fellow; and he took a hasty glance backward. A stamp of hoofs came from outside. Of course the robbers had horses waiting. The one called Bill strode across the room, and with brutal, careless haste began to prod the two men with his weapon and to search them. The robber in the doorway called “Rustle!” and disappeared.

Duane wondered where the innkeeper was, and Colonel Longstreth and the other two passengers. The bearded robber quickly got through with his searching, and from his growls Duane gathered he had not been well remunerated. Then he wheeled once more. Duane had not moved a muscle, stood perfectly calm with his arms high. The robber strode back with his bloodshot eyes fastened upon the girls. Miss Longstreth never flinched, but the little girl appeared about to faint.

“Don’t yap, there!” he said, low and hard. He thrust the gun close to Ruth. Then Duane knew for sure that he was no knight of the road, but a plain cutthroat robber. Danger always made Duane exult in a kind of cold glow. But now something hot worked within him. He had a little gun in his pocket. The robber had missed it. And he began to calculate chances.

“Any money, jewelry, diamonds!” ordered the ruffian, fiercely.

Miss Ruth collapsed. Then he made at Miss Longstreth. She stood with her hands at her breast. Evidently the robber took this position to mean that she had valuables concealed there. But Duane fancied she had instinctively pressed her hands against a throbbing heart.

“Come out with it!” he said, harshly, reaching for her.

“Don’t dare touch me!” she cried, her eyes ablaze. She did not move. She had nerve.

It made Duane thrill. He saw he was going to get a chance. Waiting had been a science with him. But here it was hard. Miss Ruth had fainted, and that was well. Miss Longstreth had fight in her, which fact helped Duane, yet made injury possible to her. She eluded two lunges the man made at her. Then his rough hand caught her waist, and with one pull ripped it asunder, exposing her beautiful shoulder, white as snow.

She cried out. The prospect of being robbed or even killed had not shaken Miss Longstreth’s nerve as had this brutal tearing off of half her waist.

The ruffian was only turned partially away from Duane. For himself he could have waited no longer. But for her! That gun was still held dangerously upward close to her. Duane watched only that. Then a bellow made him jerk his head. Colonel Longstreth stood in the doorway in a magnificent rage. He had no weapon. Strange how he showed no fear! He bellowed something again.

Duane’s shifting glance caught the robber’s sudden movement. It was a kind of start. He seemed stricken. Duane expected him to shoot Longstreth. Instead the hand that clutched Miss Longstreth’s torn waist loosened its hold. The other hand with its cocked weapon slowly dropped till it pointed to the floor. That was Duane’s chance.

Swift as a flash he drew his gun and fired. Thud! went his bullet, and he could not tell on the instant whether it hit the robber or went into the ceiling. Then the robber’s gun boomed harmlessly. He fell with blood spurting over his face. Duane realized he had hit him, but the small bullet had glanced.

Miss Longstreth reeled and might have fallen had Duane not supported her. It was only a few steps to a couch, to which he half led, half carried her. Then he rushed out of the room, across the patio, through the bar to the yard. Nevertheless, he was cautious. In the gloom stood a saddled horse, probably the one belonging to the fellow he had shot. His comrade had escaped. Returning to the sitting-room, Duane found a condition approaching pandemonium.

The innkeeper rushed in, pitchfork in hands. Evidently he had been out at the barn. He was now shouting to find out what had happened. Joel, the stage-driver, was trying to quiet the men who had been robbed. The woman, wife of one of the men, had come in, and she had hysterics. The girls were still and white. The robber Bill lay where he had fallen, and Duane guessed he had made a fair shot, after all. And, lastly, the thing that struck Duane most of all was Longstreth’s rage. He never saw such passion. Like a caged lion Longstreth stalked and roared. There came a quieter moment in which the innkeeper shrilly protested:

“Man, what’re you ravin’ aboot? Nobody’s hurt, an’ thet’s lucky. I swear to God I hadn’t nothin’ to do with them fellers!”

“I ought to kill you anyhow!” replied Longstreth. And his voice now astounded Duane, it was so full of power.

Upon examination Duane found that his bullet had furrowed the robber’s temple, torn a great piece out of his scalp, and, as Duane had guessed, had glanced. He was not seriously injured, and already showed signs of returning consciousness.

“Drag him out of here!” ordered Longstreth; and he turned to his daughter.

Before the innkeeper reached the robber Duane had secured the money and gun taken from him; and presently recovered the property of the other men. Joel helped the innkeeper carry the injured man somewhere outside.

Miss Longstreth was sitting white but composed upon the couch, where lay Miss Ruth, who evidently had been carried there by the Colonel. Duane did not think she had wholly lost consciousness, and now she lay very still, with eyes dark and shadowy, her face pallid and wet. The Colonel, now that he finally remembered his women-folk, seemed to be gentle and kind. He talked soothingly to Miss Ruth, made light of the adventure, said she must learn to have nerve out here where things happened.

“Can I be of any service?” asked Duane, solicitously.

“Thanks; I guess there’s nothing you can do. Talk to these frightened girls while I go see what’s to be done with that thick-skulled robber,” he replied, and, telling the girls that there was no more danger, he went out.

Miss Longstreth sat with one hand holding her torn waist in place; the other she extended to Duane. He took it awkwardly, and he felt a strange thrill.

“You saved my life,” she said, in grave, sweet seriousness.

“No, no!” Duane exclaimed. “He might have struck you, hurt you, but no more.”

“I saw murder in his eyes. He thought I had jewels under my dress. I couldn’t bear his touch. The beast! I’d have fought. Surely my life was in peril.”

“Did you kill him?” asked Miss Ruth, who lay listening.

“Oh no. He’s not badly hurt.”

“I’m very glad he’s alive,” said Miss Longstreth, shuddering.

“My intention was bad enough,” Duane went on. “It was a ticklish place for me. You see, he was half drunk, and I was afraid his gun might go off. Fool careless he was!”

“Yet you say you didn’t save me,” Miss Longstreth returned, quickly.

“Well, let it go at that,” Duane responded. “I saved you something.”

“Tell me all about it?” asked Miss Ruth, who was fast recovering.

Rather embarrassed, Duane briefly told the incident from his point of view.

“Then you stood there all the time with your hands up thinking of nothing—watching for nothing except a little moment when you might draw your gun?” asked Miss Ruth.

“I guess that’s about it,” he replied.

“Cousin,” said Miss Longstreth, thoughtfully, “it was fortunate for us that this gentleman happened to be here. Papa scouts—laughs at danger. He seemed to think there was no danger. Yet he raved after it came.”

“Go with us all the way to Fairdale—please?” asked Miss Ruth, sweetly offering her hand. “I am Ruth Herbert. And this is my cousin, Ray Longstreth.”

“I’m traveling that way,” replied Duane, in great confusion. He did not know how to meet the situation.

Colonel Longstreth returned then, and after bidding Duane a good night, which seemed rather curt by contrast to the graciousness of the girls, he led them away.

Before going to bed Duane went outside to take a look at the injured robber and perhaps to ask him a few questions. To Duane’s surprise, he was gone, and so was his horse. The innkeeper was dumfounded. He said that he left the fellow on the floor in the bar-room.

“Had he come to?” inquired Duane.

“Sure. He asked for whisky.”

“Did he say anything else?”

“Not to me. I heard him talkin’ to the father of them girls.”

“You mean Colonel Longstreth?”

“I reckon. He sure was some riled, wasn’t he? Jest as if I was to blame fer that two-bit of a hold-up!”

“What did you make of the old gent’s rage?” asked Duane, watching the innkeeper. He scratched his head dubiously. He was sincere, and Duane believed in his honesty.

“Wal, I’m doggoned if I know what to make of it. But I reckon he’s either crazy or got more nerve than most Texans.”

“More nerve, maybe,” Duane replied. “Show me a bed now, innkeeper.”

Once in bed in the dark, Duane composed himself to think over the several events of the evening. He called up the details of the holdup and carefully revolved them in mind. The Colonel’s wrath, under circumstances where almost any Texan would have been cool, nonplussed Duane, and he put it down to a choleric temperament. He pondered long on the action of the robber when Longstreth’s bellow of rage burst in upon him. This ruffian, as bold and mean a type as Duane had ever encountered, had, from some cause or other, been startled. From whatever point Duane viewed the man’s strange indecision he could come to only one conclusion—his start, his check, his fear had been that of recognition. Duane compared this effect with the suddenly acquired sense he had gotten of Colonel Longstreth’s powerful personality. Why had that desperate robber lowered his gun and stood paralyzed at sight and sound of the Mayor of Fairdale? This was not answerable. There might have been a number of reasons, all to Colonel Longstreth’s credit, but Duane could not understand. Longstreth had not appeared to see danger for his daughter, even though she had been roughly handled, and had advanced in front of a cocked gun.