Western
Read books online Ā» Western Ā» The Lone Star Ranger by Zane Grey (red white and royal blue hardcover .txt) šŸ“–

Book online Ā«The Lone Star Ranger by Zane Grey (red white and royal blue hardcover .txt) šŸ“–Ā». Author Zane Grey



1 ... 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 ... 48
Go to page:
taken a likinā€™ to you, anā€™ I seen right off thet you ainā€™t border-wise. Letā€™s eat now, anā€™ afterward weā€™ll go out so the gang can see youā€™re not hidinā€™.ā€

When Duane went out with Euchre the sun was setting behind a blue range of mountains across the river in Mexico. The valley appeared to open to the southwest. It was a tranquil, beautiful scene. Somewhere in a house near at hand a woman was singing. And in the road Duane saw a little Mexican boy driving home some cows, one of which wore a bell. The sweet, happy voice of a woman and a whistling barefoot boyā€”these seemed utterly out of place here.

Euchre presently led to the square and the row of rough houses Duane remembered. He almost stepped on a wide imprint in the dust where Bosomer had confronted him. And a sudden fury beset him that he should be affected strangely by the sight of it.

ā€œLetā€™s have a look in here,ā€ said Euchre.

Duane had to bend his head to enter the door. He found himself in a very large room inclosed by adobe walls and roofed with brush. It was full of rude benches, tables, seats. At one corner a number of kegs and barrels lay side by side in a rack. A Mexican boy was lighting lamps hung on posts that sustained the log rafters of the roof.

ā€œThe only feller whoā€™s goinā€™ to put a close eye on you is Benson,ā€ said Euchre. ā€œHe runs the place anā€™ sells drinks. The gang calls him Jackrabbit Benson, because heā€™s always got his eye peeled anā€™ his ear cocked. Donā€™t notice him if he looks you over, Buck. Benson is scared to death of every new-comer who rustles into Blandā€™s camp. Anā€™ the reason, I take it, is because heā€™s done somebody dirt. Heā€™s hidinā€™. Not from a sheriff or ranger! Men who hide from them donā€™t act like Jackrabbit Benson. Heā€™s hidinā€™ from some guy whoā€™s huntinā€™ him to kill him. Wal, Iā€™m always expectinā€™ to see some feller ride in here anā€™ throw a gun on Benson. Canā€™t say Iā€™d be grieved.ā€

Duane casually glanced in the direction indicated, and he saw a spare, gaunt man with a face strikingly white beside the red and bronze and dark skins of the men around him. It was a cadaverous face. The black mustache hung down; a heavy lock of black hair dropped down over the brow; deep-set, hollow, staring eyes looked out piercingly. The man had a restless, alert, nervous manner. He put his hands on the board that served as a bar and stared at Duane. But when he met Duaneā€™s glance he turned hurriedly to go on serving out liquor.

ā€œWhat have you got against him?ā€ inquired Duane, as he sat down beside Euchre. He asked more for something to say than from real interest. What did he care about a mean, haunted, craven-faced criminal?

ā€œWal, mebbe Iā€™m cross-grained,ā€ replied Euchre, apologetically. ā€œShore an outlaw anā€™ rustler such as me canā€™t be touchy. But I never stole nothinā€™ but cattle from some rancher who never missed ā€˜em anyway. Thet sneak Bensonā€”he was the means of puttinā€™ a little girl in Blandā€™s way.ā€

ā€œGirl?ā€ queried Duane, now with real attention.

ā€œShore. Blandā€™s great on women. Iā€™ll tell you about this girl when we get out of here. Some of the gang are goinā€™ to be sociable, anā€™ I canā€™t talk about the chief.ā€

During the ensuing half-hour a number of outlaws passed by Duane and Euchre, halted for a greeting or sat down for a moment. They were all gruff, loud-voiced, merry, and good-natured. Duane replied civilly and agreeably when he was personally addressed; but he refused all invitations to drink and gamble. Evidently he had been accepted, in a way, as one of their clan. No one made any hint of an allusion to his affair with Bosomer. Duane saw readily that Euchre was well liked. One outlaw borrowed money from him: another asked for tobacco.

By the time it was dark the big room was full of outlaws and Mexicans, most of whom were engaged at monte. These gamblers, especially the Mexicans, were intense and quiet. The noise in the place came from the drinkers, the loungers. Duane had seen gambling-resortsā€”some of the famous ones in San Antonio and El Paso, a few in border towns where license went unchecked. But this place of Jackrabbit Bensonā€™s impressed him as one where guns and knives were accessories to the game. To his perhaps rather distinguishing eye the most prominent thing about the gamesters appeared to be their weapons. On several of the tables were piles of silverā€”Mexican pesosā€”as large and high as the crown of his hat. There were also piles of gold and silver in United States coin. Duane needed no experienced eyes to see that betting was heavy and that heavy sums exchanged hands. The Mexicans showed a sterner obsession, an intenser passion. Some of the Americans staked freely, nonchalantly, as befitted men to whom money was nothing. These latter were manifestly winning, for there were brother outlaws there who wagered coin with grudging, sullen, greedy eyes. Boisterous talk and laughter among the drinking men drowned, except at intervals, the low, brief talk of the gamblers. The clink of coin sounded incessantly; sometimes just low, steady musical rings; and again, when a pile was tumbled quickly, there was a silvery crash. Here an outlaw pounded on a table with the butt of his gun; there another noisily palmed a roll of dollars while he studied his opponentā€™s face. The noises, however, in Bensonā€™s den did not contribute to any extent to the sinister aspect of the place. That seemed to come from the grim and reckless faces, from the bent, intent heads, from the dark lights and shades. There were bright lights, but these served only to make the shadows. And in the shadows lurked unrestrained lust of gain, a spirit ruthless and reckless, a something at once suggesting lawlessness, theft, murder, and hell.

ā€œBlandā€™s not here to-night,ā€ Euchre was saying. ā€œHe left today on one of his trips, takinā€™ Alloway anā€™ some others. But his other man, Rugg, heā€™s here. See him standinā€™ with them three fellers, all close to Benson. Ruggā€™s the little bow-legged man with the half of his face shot off. Heā€™s one-eyed. But he can shore see out of the one heā€™s got. Anā€™, darn me! thereā€™s Hardin. You know him? Heā€™s got an outlaw gang as big as Blandā€™s. Hardin is standinā€™ next to Benson. See how quiet anā€™ unassuminā€™ he looks. Yes, thetā€™s Hardin. He comes here once in a while to see Bland. Theyā€™re friends, whichā€™s shore strange. Do you see thet greaser thereā€”the one with gold anā€™ lace on his sombrero? Thetā€™s Manuel, a Mexican bandit. Heā€™s a great gambler. Comes here often to drop his coin. Next to him is Bill Marrā€”the feller with the bandana round his head. Bill rode in the other day with some fresh bullet-holes. Heā€™s been shot moreā€™n any feller I ever heard of. Heā€™s full of lead. Funny, because Billā€™s no troublehunter, anā€™, like me, heā€™d rather run than shoot. But heā€™s the best rustler Blandā€™s gotā€”a grand rider, anā€™ a wonder with cattle. Anā€™ see the tow-headed youngster. Thetā€™s Kid Fuller, the kid of Blandā€™s gang. Fuller has hit the pace hard, anā€™ he wonā€™t last the year out on the border. He killed his sweetheartā€™s father, got run out of Staceytown, took to stealinā€™ hosses. Anā€™ next heā€™s here with Bland. Another boy gone wrong, anā€™ now shore a hard nut.ā€

Euchre went on calling Duaneā€™s attention to other men, just as he happened to glance over them. Any one of them would have been a marked man in a respectable crowd. Here each took his place with more or less distinction, according to the record of his past wild prowess and his present possibilities. Duane, realizing that he was tolerated there, received in careless friendly spirit by this terrible class of outcasts, experienced a feeling of revulsion that amounted almost to horror. Was his being there not an ugly dream? What had he in common with such ruffians? Then in a flash of memory came the painful proofā€”he was a criminal in sight of Texas law; he, too, was an outcast.

For the moment Duane was wrapped up in painful reflections; but Euchreā€™s heavy hand, clapping with a warning hold on his arm, brought him back to outside things.

The hum of voices, the clink of coin, the loud laughter had ceased. There was a silence that manifestly had followed some unusual word or action sufficient to still the room. It was broken by a harsh curse and the scrape of a bench on the floor. Some man had risen.

ā€œYou stacked the cards, youā€”!ā€

ā€œSay that twice,ā€ another voice replied, so different in its cool, ominous tone from the other.

ā€œIā€™ll say it twice,ā€ returned the first gamester, in hot haste. ā€œIā€™ll say it three times. Iā€™ll whistle it. Are you deaf? You light-fingered gent! You stacked the cards!ā€

Silence ensued, deeper than before, pregnant with meaning. For all that Duane saw, not an outlaw moved for a full moment. Then suddenly the room was full of disorder as men rose and ran and dived everywhere.

ā€œRun or duck!ā€ yelled Euchre, close to Duaneā€™s ear. With that he dashed for the door. Duane leaped after him. They ran into a jostling mob. Heavy gun-shots and hoarse yells hurried the crowd Duane was with pell-mell out into the darkness. There they all halted, and several peeped in at the door.

ā€œWho was the Kid callinā€™?ā€ asked one outlaw.

ā€œBud Marsh,ā€ replied another.

ā€œI reckon them fust shots was Budā€™s. Adios Kid. It was cominā€™ to him,ā€ went on yet another.

ā€œHow many shots?ā€

ā€œThree or four, I counted.ā€

ā€œThree heavy anā€™ one light. Thet light one was the Kidā€™s .38. Listen! Thereā€™s the Kid hollerinā€™ now. He ainā€™t cashed, anyway.ā€

At this juncture most of the outlaws began to file back into the room. Duane thought he had seen and heard enough in Bensonā€™s den for one night and he started slowly down the walk. Presently Euchre caught up with him.

ā€œNobody hurt much, whichā€™s shore some strange,ā€ he said. ā€œThe Kidā€”young Fuller thet I was tellinā€™ you aboutā€”he was drinkinā€™ anā€™ losinā€™. Lost his nut, too, callinā€™ Bud Marsh thet way. Budā€™s as straight at cards as any of ā€˜em. Somebody grabbed Bud, who shot into the roof. Anā€™ Fullerā€™s arm was knocked up. He only hit a greaser.ā€

CHAPTER VI

Next morning Duane found that a moody and despondent spell had fastened on him. Wishing to be alone, he went out and walked a trail leading round the river bluff. He thought and thought. After a while he made out that the trouble with him probably was that he could not resign himself to his fate. He abhorred the possibility chance seemed to hold in store for him. He could not believe there was no hope. But what to do appeared beyond his power to tell.

Duane had intelligence and keenness enough to see his perilā€”the danger threatening his character as a man, just as much as that which threatened his life. He cared vastly more, he discovered, for what he considered honor and integrity than he did for life. He saw that it was bad for him to be alone. But, it appeared, lonely months and perhaps years inevitably must be his. Another thing puzzled him. In the bright light of day he could not recall the state of mind that was his at twilight or dusk or in the dark night. By day these visitations became to him what they really wereā€”phantoms of his conscience. He could dismiss the thought of them then. He could scarcely remember or believe that this strange feat

1 ... 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 ... 48
Go to page:

Free ebook Ā«The Lone Star Ranger by Zane Grey (red white and royal blue hardcover .txt) šŸ“–Ā» - read online now

Comments (0)

There are no comments yet. You can be the first!
Add a comment