A Texas Ranger by William MacLeod Raine (read with me .TXT) 📖
- Author: William MacLeod Raine
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“That’s how it was, Steve. In as long as it takes to empty a Winchester, we were every one of us guilty of a murder we’d each have given a laig to have stopped. We were all in it, all tied together, because we had broke the law to go raiding in the first place. Technically, the man that emptied that rifle wasn’t any more guilty than us poor wretches that stood frozen there while he did it. Put it that we might shave the gallows, even then the penitentiary would bury us. There was only one thing to do. We agreed to stand together, and keep mum.”
“Is that why you’re telling me, Alec?” Fraser smiled.
“We ain’t telling you, not legally,” the cowpuncher answered coolly. “If you was ever to say we had, Dick and me would deny it. But we ain’t worrying any about you telling it. You’re a clam, and we know it. No, we’re telling you, son, because we want you to know about how it was. The boys didn’t ride out to do murder. They rode out simply to drive the sheep off their range.”
The Texan nodded. “That’s about how I figured it. I’m glad you told me, boys. I reckon I don’t need to tell you I’m padlocked in regard to this.”
Arlie came to the door and looked in. “It’s time you boys were going. Doc said a half hour”
“All right, Arlie,” responded Dick. “So-long, Steve. Be good, you old pie eater.”
After they had gone, the Texan lay silent for a long time. He understood perfectly their motive in telling him the story. They had not compromised themselves legally, since a denial would have given them two to one in the matter of witnesses. But they wished him to see that, morally, every man but one who rode on that raid was guiltless of the Squaw Creek murders.
Arlie came in presently, and sat down near the window with some embroidery.
“Did the boys tire you?” she asked, noting his unusual silence.
“No. I was thinking about what they told me. They were giving me the inside facts of the Squaw Creek raid.”
She looked up in surprise. “They were?” A little smile began to dimple the corners of her mouth. “That’s funny, because they had just got through forgiving me for what I told you.”
“What they told me was how the shooting occurred.”
“I don’t know anything about that. When I told you their names I was only telling what I had heard people whisper. That’s all I knew.”
“You’ve been troubled because your friends were in this, haven’t you? You hated to think it of them, didn’t you?” he asked.
“Yes. It has troubled me a lot.”
“Don’t let it trouble you any more. One man was responsible for all the bloodshed. He went mad and saw red for half a minute. Before the rest could stop him, the slaughter was done. The other boys aren’t guilty of that, any more than you or I.”
“Oh, I’m glad— I’m glad,” she cried softly. Then, looking up quickly to him: “Who was the man?” she asked.
“I don’t know. It is better that neither of us should know that.”
“I’m glad the boys told you. It shows they trust you.”
“They figure me out a white man,” he answered carelessly.
“Ah! That’s where I made my mistake.” She looked at him bravely, though the color began to beat into her cheeks beneath the dusky tan. “Yet I knew it all the time— in my heart. At least, after I had given myself time to think it over. I knew you couldn’t be that. If I had given you time to explain— but I always think too late.”
His eyes, usually so clear and steely, softened at her words. “I’m satisfied if you knew— in your heart.”
“I meant–-” she began, with a flush.
“Now, don’t spoil it, please,” he begged.
Under his steady, half-smiling gaze, her eyes fell. Two weeks ago she had been a splendid young creature, as untaught of life as one of the wild forest animals and as unconsciously eager for it. But there had come a change over her, a birth of womanhood from that night when she had stood between Stephen Fraser and death. No doubt she would often regret it, but she had begun to live more deeply. She could never go back to the care-free days when she could look all men in the face with candid, girlish eyes. The time had come to her, as it must to all sensitive of life, when she must drink of it, whether she would or no.
“Because I’d rather you would know it in your heart than in your mind,” he said.
Something sweet and terrifying, with the tingle and warmth of rare wine in it, began to glow in her veins. Eyes shy, eager, frightened, met his for an instant. Then she remembered the other girl. Something hard as steel ran through her. She turned on her heel and left the room.
From that day Fraser had a new nurse. Arlie disappeared, and her aunt replaced her a few hours later and took charge of the patient. Steve took her desertion as an irritable convalescent does, but he did not let his disappointment make him unpleasant to Miss Ruth Dillon.
“I’m a chump,” he told himself, with deep disgust. “Hadn’t any more sense than to go scaring off the little girl by handing out a line of talk she ain’t used to. I reckon now she’s done with me proper.”
He continued to improve so rapidly that within the prescribed two weeks he was on horseback again, though still a little weak and washed out. His first ride of any length was to the Dillon ranch. Siegfried accompanied him, and across the Norwegian’s saddle lay a very business-like rifle.
As they were passing the mouth of a ca�on, the ranger put a casual question: “This Jack Rabbit Run, Sig?”
“Yah. More men wanted bane lost in that gulch than any place Ay knows of.”
“That so? I’m going in there to-morrow to find that man Struve,” his friend announced carelessly.
The big blonde giant looked at him. “Yuh bain’t, Steve? Why, yuh bain’t fit to tackle a den uh wild cats.” An admiring grin lit the Norwegian’s face. “Durn my hide, yuh’ve got ‘em all skinned for grit, Steve. Uh course, Ay bane goin’ with yuh.”
“If it won’t get you in bad with your friends I’ll be glad to have you, Sig.”
“They bain’t my friends. Ay bane shook them, an’ served notice to that effect.”
“Glad of it.”
“Yuh bane goin’ in after Struve only?”
“Yes. He’s the only man I want.”
“Then Ay bane go in, and bring heem out to yuh.”
Fraser shook his head. “No, old man, I’ve got to play my own hand.”
“Ay t’ink it be a lot safer f’r me to happen in an’ get heem,” remonstrated Siegfried.
“Safer for me,” corrected the lieutenant, smiling. “No, I can’t work that way. I’ve got to take my own chances. You can go along, though, on one condition. You’re not to interfere between me and Struve. If some one else butts in, you may ask him why, if you like.
“Ay bane t’ink yuh von fool, Steve. But Ay bane no boss. Vat yuh says goes.”
They found Arlie watering geraniums in front of the house. Siegfried merely nodded to her and passed on to the stables with the horses. Fraser dismounted, offering her his hand and his warm smile.
He had caught her without warning, and she was a little shy of him. Not only was she embarrassed, but she saw that he knew it. He sat down on the step, while she continued to water her flowers.
“You see your bad penny turned up again, Miss Arlie,” he said.
“I didn’t know you were able to ride yet, Lieutenant Fraser.”
“This is my first try at it. Thought I’d run over and say ‘Thank you’ to my nurse.”
“I’ll call auntie,” she said quickly.
He shook his head. “Not necessary, Miss Arlie. I settled up with her. I was thinking of the nurse that ran off and left me.”
She was beginning to recover herself. “You want to thank her for leaving while there was still hope,” she said, with a quick little smile.
“Why did you do it? I’ve been mighty lonesome the past two weeks,” he said quietly.
“You would be, of course. You are used to an active outdoor life, and I suppose the boys couldn’t get round to see you very often.”
“I wasn’t thinking of the boys,” he meditated aloud.
Arlie blushed; and to hide her embarrassment she called to Jimmie, who was passing: “Bring up Lieutenant Fraser’s Teddy. I want him to see how well we’re caring for his horse.”
As a diversion, Teddy served very well. Horse and owner were both mightily pleased to see each other. While the animal rubbed its nose against his coat, the ranger teased and petted it.
“Hello, you old Teddy hawss. How air things a-comin’, pardner?” he drawled, with a reversion to his Texas speech. “Plumb tickled to death to meet up with yore old master, ain’t you? How come it you ain’t fallen in love with this young lady and forgot Steve?”
“He thinks a lot of me, too,” Arlie claimed promptly.
“Don’t blame you a bit, Teddy. I’ll ce’tainly shake hands with you on that. But life’s jest meetin’ and partin’, old hawss. I got to take you away for good, day after to-morrow.”
“Where are you going?” the girl asked quickly. Then, to cover the swift interest of her question: “But, of course, it is time you were going back to your business.”
“No, ma’am, that is just it. Seems to me either too soon or too late to be going.”
She had her face turned from him, and was busy over her plants, to hide the tremulous dismay that had shaken her at his news.
She did not ask him what he meant, nor did she ask again where he was going. For the moment, she could not trust her voice to say more.
“Too late, because I’ve seen in this valley some one I’ll never forget, and too soon because that some one will forget me, sure as a gun,” he told her.
“Not if you write to him.”
“It isn’t a him. It’s my little nurse.”
“I’ll tell auntie how you feel about it, and I’m sure she won’t forget you.”
“You know mighty well I ain’t talking about auntie.”
“Then I suppose you must mean me.”
“That’s who I’m meaning.”
“I think I’ll be able to remember you if I try— by Teddy,” she answered, without looking at him, and devoted herself to petting the horse.
“Is it— would it be any use to say any more, Arlie?” he asked, in a low voice, as he stood beside her, with Teddy’s nose in his hands.
“I— I don’t know what you mean, sir. Please don’t say anything more about it.” Then again memory of the other girl flamed through her. “No, it wouldn’t— not a bit of use, not a bit,” she broke out fiercely.
“You mean you couldn’t–-”
The flame in her face, the eyes that met his, as if drawn by a magnet, still held their anger, but mingled with it was a piteous plea for mercy. “I— I’m only a girl. Why don’t you let me alone?” she cried bitterly, and hard upon her own words turned and ran from the room.
Steve
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