SOUNDING THE TIMBER
When Steele left the hall, pushing Snell before him, making a lane
through the crowd, it was not any longer possible to watch everybody.
Yet now he seemed to ignore the men behind him. Any friend of Snell's
among the vicious element might have pulled a gun. I wondered if Steele
knew how I watched those men at his back--how fatal it would have been
for any of them to make a significant move.
No--I decided that Steele trusted to the effect his boldness had
created. It was this power to cow ordinary men that explained so many of
his feats; just the same it was his keenness to read desperate men, his
nerve to confront them, that made him great.
The crowd followed Steele and his captive down the middle of the main
street and watched him secure a team and buckboard and drive off on the
road to Sanderson.
Only then did that crowd appear to realize what had happened. Then my
long-looked-for opportunity arrived. In the expression of silent men
I found something which I had sought; from the hurried departure of
others homeward I gathered import; on the husky, whispering lips of yet
others I read words I needed to hear.
The other part of that crowd--to my surprise, the smaller part--was the
roaring, threatening, complaining one.
Thus I segregated Linrock that was lawless from Linrock that wanted law,
but for some reason not yet clear the latter did not dare to voice their
choice.
How could Steele and I win them openly to our cause? If that could be
done long before the year was up Linrock would be free of violence and
Captain Neal's Ranger Service saved to the State.
I went from place to place, corner to corner, bar to bar, watching,
listening, recording; and not until long after sunset did I go out to
the ranch.
The excitement had preceded me and speculation was rife. Hurrying
through my supper, to get away from questions and to go on with my
spying, I went out to the front of the house.
The evening was warm; the doors were open; and in the twilight the only
lamps that had been lit were in Sampson's big sitting room at the far
end of the house. Neither Sampson nor Wright had come home to supper.
I would have given much to hear their talk right then, and certainly
intended to try to hear it when they did come home.
When the buckboard drove up and they alighted I was well hidden in the
bushes, so well screened that I could get but a fleeting glimpse of
Sampson as he went in.
For all I could see, he appeared to be a calm and quiet man, intense
beneath the surface, with an air of dignity under insult. My chance to
observe Wright was lost.
They went into the house without speaking, and closed the door.
At the other end of the porch, close under a window, was an offset
between step and wall, and there in the shadow I hid. If Sampson or
Wright visited the girls that evening I wanted to hear what was said
about Steele.
It seemed to me that it might be a good clue for me--the circumstance
whether or not Diane Sampson was told the truth. So I waited there in
the darkness with patience born of many hours of like duty.
Presently the small lamp was lit--I could tell the difference in light
when the big one was burning--and I heard the swish of skirts.
"Something's happened, surely, Sally," I heard Miss Sampson say
anxiously. "Papa just met me in the hall and didn't speak. He seemed
pale, worried."
"Cousin George looked like a thundercloud," said Sally. "For once, he
didn't try to kiss me. Something's happened. Well, Diane, this has been
a bad day for me, too."
Plainly I heard Sally's sigh, and the little pathetic sound brought me
vividly out of my sordid business of suspicion and speculation. So she
was sorry.
"Bad for you, too?" replied Diane in amused surprise. "Oh, I see--I
forgot. You and Russ had it out."
"Out? We fought like the very old deuce. I'll never speak to him again."
"So your little--affair with Russ is all over?"
"Yes." Here she sighed again.
"Well, Sally, it began swiftly and it's just as well short," said Diane
earnestly. "We know nothing at all of Russ."
"Diane, after to-day I respect him in--in spite of things--even though
he seems no good. I--I cared a lot, too."
"My dear, your loves are like the summer flowers. I thought maybe your
flirting with Russ might amount to something. Yet he seems so different
now from what he was at first. It's only occasionally I get the
impression I had of him after that night he saved me from violence. He's
strange. Perhaps it all comes of his infatuation for you. He is in love
with you. I'm afraid of what may come of it."
"Diane, he'll do something dreadful to George, mark my words,"
whispered Sally. "He swore he would if George fooled around me any
more."
"Oh, dear. Sally, what can we do? These are wild men. George makes life
miserable for me. And he teases you unmer..."
"I don't call it teasing. George wants to spoon," declared Sally
emphatically. "He'd run after any woman."
"A fine compliment to me, Cousin Sally," laughed Diane.
"I don't agree," replied Sally stubbornly. "It's so. He's spoony. And
when he's been drinking and tries to kiss me, I hate him."
"Sally, you look as if you'd rather like Russ to do something dreadful
to George," said Diane with a laugh that this time was only half mirth.
"Half of me would and half of me would not," returned Sally. "But all
of me would if I weren't afraid of Russ. I've got a feeling--I don't
know what--something will happen between George and Russ some day."
There were quick steps on the hall floor, steps I thought I recognized.
"Hello, girls!" sounded out Wright's voice, minus its usual gaiety. Then
ensued a pause that made me bring to mind a picture of Wright's glum
face.
"George, what's the matter?" asked Diane presently. "I never saw papa as
he is to-night, nor you so--so worried. Tell me, what has happened?"
"Well, Diane, we had a jar to-day," replied Wright, with a blunt,
expressive laugh.
"Jar?" echoed both the girls curiously.
"Jar? We had to submit to a damnable outrage," added Wright
passionately, as if the sound of his voice augmented his feeling.
"Listen, girls. I'll tell you all about it."
He coughed, clearing his throat in a way that betrayed he had been
drinking.
I sunk deeper in the shadow of my covert, and stiffening my muscles for
a protracted spell of rigidity, prepared to listen with all acuteness
and intensity.
Just one word from this Wright, inadvertently uttered in a moment of
passion, might be the word Steele needed for his clue.
"It happened at the town hall," began Wright rapidly. "Your father and
Judge Owens and I were there in consultation with three ranchers from
out of town. First we were disturbed by gunshots from somewhere, but not
close at hand. Then we heard the loud voices outside.
"A crowd was coming down street. It stopped before the hall. Men came
running in, yelling. We thought there was a fire. Then that Ranger,
Steele, stalked in, dragging a fellow by the name of Snell. We couldn't
tell what was wanted because of the uproar. Finally your father restored
order.
"Steele had arrested Snell for alleged assault on a restaurant keeper
named Hoden. It developed that Hoden didn't accuse anybody, didn't know
who attacked him. Snell, being obviously innocent, was discharged. Then
this--this gun fighting Ranger pulled his guns on the court and halted
the proceedings."
When Wright paused I plainly heard his intake of breath. Far indeed was
he from calm.
"Steele held everybody in that hall in fear of death, and he began
shouting his insults. Law was a farce in Linrock. The court was a farce.
There was no law. Your father's office as mayor should be impeached. He
made arrests only for petty offenses. He was afraid of the rustlers,
highwaymen, murderers. He was afraid or--he just let them alone. He used
his office to cheat ranchers and cattlemen in law-suits.
"All of this Steele yelled for everyone to hear. A damnable outrage!
Your father, Diane, insulted in his own court by a rowdy Ranger! Not
only insulted, but threatened with death--two big guns thrust almost
in his face!"
"Oh! How horrible!" cried Diane, in mingled distress and anger.
"Steele's a Ranger. The Ranger Service wants to rule western Texas,"
went on Wright. "These Rangers are all a low set, many of them worse
than the outlaws they hunt. Some of them were outlaws and gun fighters
before they became Rangers.
"This Steele is one of the worst of the lot. He's keen, intelligent,
smooth, and that makes him more to be feared. For he is to be feared. He
wanted to kill. He meant to kill. If your father had made the least move
Steele would have shot him. He's a cold-nerved devil--the born gunman.
My God, any instant I expected to see your father fall dead at my feet!"
"Oh, George! The--the unspeakable ruffian!" cried Diane, passionately.
"You see, Diane, this fellow Steele has failed here in Linrock. He's
been here weeks and done nothing. He must have got desperate. He's
infamous and he loves his name. He seeks notoriety. He made that play
with Snell just for a chance to rant against your father. He tried to
inflame all Linrock against him. That about law-suits was the worst!
Damn him! He'll make us enemies."
"What do you care for the insinuations of such a man?" said Diane
Sampson, her voice now deep and rich with feeling. "After a moment's
thought no one will be influenced by them. Do not worry, George, tell
papa not to worry. Surely after all these years he can't be injured in
reputation by--by an adventurer."
"Yes, he can be injured," replied George quickly. "The frontier is a
queer place. There are many bitter men here, men who have failed at
ranching. And your father has been wonderfully successful. Steele has
dropped some poison, and it'll spread."
Then followed a silence, during which, evidently, the worried Wright
bestrode the floor.
"Cousin George, what became of Steele and his prisoner?" suddenly asked
Sally.
How like her it was, with her inquisitive bent of mind and shifting
points of view, to ask a question the answering of which would be gall
and wormwood to Wright!
It amused while it thrilled me. Sally might be a flirt, but she was no
fool.
"What became of them? Ha! Steele bluffed the whole town--at least all of
it who had heard the mayor's order to discharge Snell," growled Wright.
"He took Snell--rode off for Del Rio to jail him."
"George!" exclaimed Diane. "Then, after all, this Ranger was able to
arrest Snell, the innocent man father discharged, and take him to jail?"
"Exactly. That's the toughest part...." Wright ended abruptly, and then
broke out fiercely: "But, by God, he'll never come back!"
Wright's slow pacing quickened and he strode from the parlor, leaving
behind him a silence eloquent of the effect of his sinister prediction.
"Sally, what did he mean?" asked Diane in a low voice.
"Steele will be killed," replied Sally, just as low-voiced.
"Killed! That magnificent fellow! Ah, I forgot. Sally, my wits are sadly
mixed. I ought to be glad if somebody kills my father's defamer. But,
oh, I can't be!
"This bloody frontier makes me sick. Papa doesn't want me to stay for
good. And no wonder. Shall I go back? I hate to show a white feather.
"Do you know, Sally, I was--a little taken with this Texas Ranger.
Miserably, I confess. He seemed so like in spirit to the grand stature
of him. How can so splendid a man be so bloody, base at heart? It's
hideous. How little we know of men! I had my dream about Vaughn Steele.
I confess because it shames me--because I hate myself!"
Next morning I awakened with a feeling that I was more like my old self.
In the experience of activity of body and mind, with a prospect that
this was merely the forerunner of great events, I came round to my own
again.
Sally was not forgotten; she had just become a sorrow. So perhaps my
downfall as a lover was a precursor of better results as an officer.
I held in abeyance my last conclusion regarding Sampson and Wright, and
only awaited Steele's return to have fixed in mind what these men were.
Wright's remark about Steele not returning did not worry me. I had heard
many such dark sayings in reference to Rangers.
Rangers had a trick of coming back. I did not see any man or men on the
present horizon of Linrock equal to the killing of Steele.
As Miss Sampson and Sally had no inclination to ride, I had even more
freedom. I went down to the town and burst, cheerily whistling, into Jim
Hoden's place.
Jim always made me welcome there, as much for my society as for the
money I spent, and I never neglected being free with both. I bought
a handful of cigars and shoved some of them in his pocket.
"How's tricks, Jim?" I asked cheerily.
"Reckon I'm feelin' as well as could be expected," replied Jim. His head
was circled by a bandage that did not conceal the lump where he had been
struck. Jim looked a little pale, but he was bright enough.
"That was a hell of a biff Snell gave you, the skunk," I remarked with
the same cheery assurance.
"Russ, I ain't accusin' Snell," remonstrated Jim with eyes that made me
thoughtful.
"Sure, I know you're too good a sport to send a fellow up. But Snell
deserved what he got. I saw his face when he made his talk to Sampson's
court. Snell lied. And I'll tell you what, Jim, if it'd been me instead
of that Ranger, Bud Snell would have got settled."
Jim appeared to be agitated by my forcible intimation of friendship.
"Jim, that's between ourselves," I went on. "I'm no fool. And much as I
blab when I'm hunky, it's all air. Maybe you've noticed that about me.
In some parts of Texas it's policy to be close-mouthed. Policy and
healthy. Between ourselves, as friends, I want you to know I lean some
on Steele's side of the fence."
As I lighted a cigar I saw, out of the corner of my eye, how Hoden gave
a quick start. I expected some kind of a startling idea to flash into
his mind.
Presently I turned and frankly met his gaze. I had startled him out of
his habitual set taciturnity, but even as I looked the light that might
have been amaze and joy faded out of his face, leaving it the same old
mask.
Still I had seen enough. Like a bloodhound, I had a scent. "Thet's
funny, Russ, seein' as you drift with the gang Steele's bound to fight,"
remarked Hoden.
"Sure. I'm a sport. If I can't gamble with gentlemen I'll gamble with
rustlers."
Again he gave a slight start, and this time he hid his eyes.
"Wal, Russ, I've heard you was slick," he said.
"You tumble, Jim. I'm a little better on the draw."
"On the draw? With cards, an' gun, too, eh?"
"Now, Jim, that last follows natural. I haven't had much chance to show
how good I am on the draw with a gun. But that'll come soon."
"Reckon thet talk's a little air," said Hoden with his dry laugh. "Same
as you leanin' a little on the Ranger's side of the fence."
"But, Jim, wasn't he game? What'd you think of that stand? Bluffed the
whole gang! The way he called Sampson--why, it was great! The justice of
that call doesn't bother me. It was Steele's nerve that got me. That'd
warm any man's blood."
There was a little red in Hoden's pale cheeks and I saw him swallow
hard. I had struck deep again.
"Say, don't you work for Sampson?" he queried.
"Me? I _guess_ not. I'm Miss Sampson's man. He and Wright have tried to
fire me many a time."
"Thet so?" he said curiously. "What for?"
"Too many silver trimmings on me, Jim. And I pack my gun low down."
"Wal, them two don't go much together out here," replied Hoden. "But I
ain't seen thet anyone has shot off the trimmin's."
"Maybe it'll commence, Jim, as soon as I stop buying drinks. Talking
about work--who'd you say Snell worked for?"
"I didn't say."
"Well, say so now, can't you? Jim, you're powerful peevish to-day. It's
the bump on your head. Who does Snell work for?"
"When he works at all, which sure ain't often, he rides for Sampson."
"Humph! Seems to me, Jim, that Sampson's the whole circus round Linrock.
I was some sore the other day to find I was losing good money at
Sampson's faro game. Sure if I'd won I wouldn't have been sorry, eh? But
I was surprised to hear some scully say Sampson owned the Hope So dive."
"I've heard he owned considerable property hereabouts," replied Jim
constrainedly.
"Humph again! Why, Jim, you _know_ it, only like every other scully you
meet in this town, you're afraid to open your mug about Sampson. Get me
straight, Jim Hoden. I don't care a damn for Colonel Mayor Sampson. And
for cause I'd throw a gun on him just as quick as on any rustler in
Pecos."
"Talk's cheap, my boy," replied Hoden, making light of my bluster, but
the red was deep in his face.
"Sure, I know that," I said, calming down. "My temper gets up, Jim. Then
it's not well known that Sampson owns the Hope So?"
"Reckon it's known in Pecos, all right. But Sampson's name isn't
connected with the Hope So. Blandy runs the place."
"That Blandy--I've got no use for him. His faro game's crooked, or I'm
locoed bronc. Not that we don't have lots of crooked faro dealers. A
fellow can stand for them. But Blandy's mean, back handed, never looks
you in the eyes. That Hope So place ought to be run by a good fellow
like you, Hoden."
"Thanks, Russ," replied he, and I imagined his voice a little husky.
"Didn't you ever hear _I_ used to run it?"
"No. Did you?" I said quickly.
"I reckon. I built the place, made additions twice, owned it for eleven
years."
"Well, I'll be doggoned!"
It was indeed my turn to be surprised, and with the surprise came
glimmering.
"I'm sorry you're not there now, Jim. Did you sell out?"
"No. Just lost the place."
Hoden was bursting for relief now--to talk--to tell. Sympathy had made
him soft. I did not need to ask another question.
"It was two years ago--two years last March," he went on. "I was in a
big cattle deal with Sampson. We got the stock, an' my share, eighteen
hundred head, was rustled off. I owed Sampson. He pressed me. It come to
a lawsuit, an' I--was ruined."
It hurt me to look at Hoden. He was white, and tears rolled down his
cheeks.
I saw the bitterness, the defeat, the agony of the man. He had failed to
meet his obligation; nevertheless he had been swindled.
All that he suppressed, all that would have been passion had the man's
spirit not been broken, lay bare for me to see. I had now the secret of
his bitterness.
But the reason he did not openly accuse Sampson, the secret of his
reticence and fear--these I thought best to try to learn at some later
time, after I had consulted with Steele.
"Hard luck! Jim, it certainly was tough," I said. "But you're a good
loser. And the wheel turns!
"Now, Jim, here's what I come particular to see you for. I need your
advice. I've got a little money. Between you and me, as friends, I've
been adding some to that roll all the time. But before I lose it I want
to invest some. Buy some stock or buy an interest in some rancher's
herd.
"What I want you to steer me on is a good, square rancher. Or maybe a
couple of ranchers if there happen to be two honest ones in Pecos. Eh?
No deals with ranchers who ride in the dark with rustlers! I've a hunch
Linrock's full of them.
"Now, Jim, you've been here for years. So you must know a couple of men
above suspicion."
"Thank God I do, Russ," he replied feelingly. "Frank Morton an' Si
Zimmer, my friends an' neighbors all my prosperous days. An' friends
still. You can gamble on Frank and Si. But Russ, if you want advice from
me, don't invest money in stock now."
"Why?"
"Because any new feller buyin' stock in Pecos these days will be
rustled quicker'n he can say Jack Robinson. The pioneers, the new
cattlemen--these are easy pickin'. But the new fellers have to learn the
ropes. They don't know anythin' or anybody. An' the old ranchers are
wise an' sore. They'd fight if they...."
"What?" I put in as he paused. "If they knew who was rustling the stock?"
"Nope."
"If they had the nerve?"
"Not thet so much."
"What then? What'd make them fight?"
"A leader!"
I went out of Hoden's with that word ringing in my ears. A leader! In my
mind's eye I saw a horde of dark faced, dusty-booted cattlemen riding
grim and armed behind Vaughn Steele.
More thoughtful than usual, I walked on, passing some of my old haunts,
and was about to turn in front of a feed and grain store when a hearty
slap on my back disturbed my reflection.
"Howdy thar, cowboy," boomed a big voice.
It was Morton, the rancher whom Jim had mentioned, and whose
acquaintance I had made. He was a man of great bulk, with a ruddy,
merry face.
"Hello, Morton. Let's have a drink," I replied.
"Gotta rustle home," he said. "Young feller, I've a ranch to work."
"Sell it to me, Morton."
He laughed and said he wished he could. His buckboard stood at the rail,
the horses stamping impatiently.
"Cards must be runnin' lucky," he went on, with another hearty laugh.
"Can't kick on the luck. But I'm afraid it will change. Morton, my
friend Hoden gave me a hunch you'd be a good man to tie to. Now, I've
a little money, and before I lose it I'd like to invest it in stock."
He smiled broadly, but for all his doubt of me he took definite
interest.
"I'm not drunk, and I'm on the square," I said bluntly. "You've taken me
for a no-good cow puncher without any brains. Wake up, Morton. If you
never size up your neighbors any better than you have me--well, you
won't get any richer."
It was sheer enjoyment for me to make my remarks to these men, pregnant
with meaning. Morton showed his pleasure, his interest, but his faith
held aloof.
"I've got some money. I had some. Then the cards have run lucky. Will
you let me in on some kind of deal? Will you start me up as a stockman,
with a little herd all my own?"
"Russ, this's durn strange, comin' from Sampson's cowboy," he said.
"I'm not in his outfit. My job's with Miss Sampson. She's fine, but the
old man? Nit! He's been after me for weeks. I won't last long. That's
one reason why I want to start up for myself."
"Hoden sent you to me, did he? Poor ol' Jim. Wal, Russ, to come out
flat-footed, you'd be foolish to buy cattle now. I don't want to take
your money an' see you lose out. Better go back across the Pecos where
the rustlers ain't so strong. I haven't had more'n twenty-five-hundred
head of stock for ten years. The rustlers let me hang on to a breedin'
herd. Kind of them, ain't it?"
"Sort of kind. All I hear is rustlers." I replied with impatience. "You
see, I haven't ever lived long in a rustler-run county. Who heads the
gang anyway?"
Frank Morton looked at me with a curiously-amused smile.
"I hear lots about Jack Blome and Snecker. Everybody calls them out and
out bad. Do they head this mysterious gang?"
"Russ, I opine Blome an' Snecker parade themselves off boss rustlers
same as gun throwers. But thet's the love such men have for bein'
thought hell. That's brains headin' the rustler gang hereabouts."
"Maybe Blome and Snecker are blinds. Savvy what I mean, Morton? Maybe
there's more in the parade than just the fame of it."
Morton snapped his big jaw as if to shut in impulsive words.
"Look here, Morton. I'm not so young in years even if I am young west of
the Pecos. I can figure ahead. It stands to reason, no matter how damn
strong these rustlers are, how hidden their work, however involved with
supposedly honest men--they can't last."
"They come with the pioneers an' they'll last as long as thar's a single
steer left," he declared.
"Well, if you take that view of circumstances I just figure you as one
of the rustlers!"
Morton looked as if he were about to brain me with the butt of his whip.
His anger flashed by then as unworthy of him, and, something striking
him as funny, he boomed out a laugh.
"It's not so funny," I went on. "If you're going to pretend a yellow
streak, what else will I think?"
"Pretend?" he repeated.
"Sure. You can't fool me, Morton. I know men of nerve. And here in Pecos
they're not any different from those in other places. I say if you show
anything like a lack of sand it's all bluff.
"By nature you've got nerve. There are a lot of men round Linrock who're
afraid of their shadows, afraid to be out after dark, afraid to open
their mouths. But you're not one.
"So, I say, if you claim these rustlers will last, you're pretending
lack of nerve just to help the popular idea along. For they can't last.
"Morton, I don't want to be a hard-riding cowboy all my days. Do you
think I'd let fear of a gang of rustlers stop me from going in business
with a rancher? Nit! What you need out here in Pecos is some new
blood--a few youngsters like me to get you old guys started. Savvy what
I mean?"
"Wal, I reckon I do," he replied, looking as if a storm had blown over
him.
I gauged the hold the rustler gang had on Linrock by the difficult job
it was to stir this really courageous old cattleman. He had grown up
with the evil. To him it must have been a necessary one, the same as dry
seasons and cyclones.
"Russ, I'll look you up the next time I come to town," he said soberly.
We parted, and I, more than content with the meeting, retraced my steps
down street to the Hope So saloon.
Here I entered, bent on tasks as sincere as the ones just finished, but
displeasing, because I had to mix with a low, profane set, to cultivate
them, to drink occasionally despite my deftness at emptying glasses on
the floor, to gamble with them and strangers, always playing the part of
a flush and flashy cowboy, half drunk, ready to laugh or fight.
On the night of the fifth day after Steele's departure, I went, as was
my habit, to the rendezvous we maintained at the pile of rocks out in
the open.
The night was clear, bright starlight, without any moon, and for this
latter fact safer to be abroad. Often from my covert I had seen dark
figures skulking in and out of Linrock.
It would have been interesting to hold up these mysterious travelers; so
far, however, this had not been our game. I had enough to keep my own
tracks hidden, and my own comings and goings.
I liked to be out in the night, with the darkness close down to the
earth, and the feeling of a limitless open all around. Not only did I
listen for Steele's soft step, but for any sound--the yelp of coyote or
mourn of wolf, the creak of wind in the dead brush, the distant clatter
of hoofs, a woman's singing voice faint from the town.
This time, just when I was about to give up for that evening, Steele
came looming like a black giant long before I heard his soft step. It
was good to feel his grip, even if it hurt, because after five days I
had begun to worry.
"Well, old boy, how's tricks?" he asked easily.
"Well, old man, did you land that son of a gun in jail?"
"You bet I did. And he'll stay there for a while. Del Rio rather liked
the idea, Russ. All right there. I side-stepped Sanderson on the way
back. But over here at the little village--Sampson they call it--I was
held up. Couldn't help it, because there wasn't any road around."
"Held up?" I queried.
"That's it, the buckboard was held up. I got into the brush in time to
save my bacon. They began to shoot too soon."
"Did you get any of them?"
"Didn't stay to see," he chuckled. "Had to hoof it to Linrock, and it's
a good long walk."
"Been to your 'dobe yet to-night?"
"I slipped in at the back. Russ, it bothered me some to make sure no one
was laying for me in the dark."
"You'll have to get a safer place. Why not take to the open every
night?"
"Russ, that's well enough on a trail. But I need grub, and I've got to
have a few comforts. I'll risk the 'dobe yet a little."
Then I narrated all that I had seen and done and heard during his
absence, holding back one thing. What I did tell him sobered him at
once, brought the quiet, somber mood, the thoughtful air.
"So that's all. Well, it's enough."
"All pertaining to our job, Vaughn," I replied. "The rest is sentiment,
perhaps. I had a pretty bad case of moons over the little Langdon girl.
But we quarreled. And it's ended now. Just as well, too, because if
she'd...."
"Russ, did you honestly care for her? The real thing, I mean?"
"I--I'm afraid so. I'm sort of hurt inside. But, hell! There's one thing
sure, a love affair might have hindered me, made me soft. I'm glad it's
over."
He said no more, but his big hand pressing on my knee told me of his
sympathy, another indication that there was nothing wanting in this
Ranger.
"The other thing concerns you," I went on, somehow reluctant now to tell
this. "You remember how I heard Wright making you out vile to Miss
Sampson? Swore you'd never come back? Well, after he had gone, when
Sally said he'd meant you'd be killed, Miss Sampson felt bad about it.
She said she ought to be glad if someone killed you, but she couldn't
be. She called you a bloody ruffian, yet she didn't want you shot.
"She said some things about the difference between your hideous
character and your splendid stature. Called you a magnificent
fellow--that was it. Well, then she choked up and confessed something to
Sally in shame and disgrace."
"Shame--disgrace?" echoed Steele, greatly interested. "What?"
"She confessed she had been taken with you--had her little dream about
you. And she hated herself for it."
Never, I thought, would I forget Vaughn Steele's eyes. It did not
matter that it was dark; I saw the fixed gleam, then the leaping,
shadowy light.
"Did she say that?" His voice was not quite steady. "Wonderful! Even if
it only lasted a minute! She might--we might--If it wasn't for this
hellish job! Russ, has it dawned on you yet, what I've got to do to
Diane Sampson?"
"Yes," I replied. "Vaughn, you haven't gone sweet on her?"
What else could I make of that terrible thing in his eyes? He did not
reply to that at all. I thought my arm would break in his clutch.
"You said you knew what I've got to do to Diane Sampson," he repeated
hoarsely.
"Yes, you've got to ruin her happiness, if not her life."
"Why? Speak out, Russ. All this comes like a blow. There for a little I
hoped you had worked out things differently from me. No hope. Ruin her
life! Why?"
I could explain this strange agitation in Steele in no other way except
that realization had brought keen suffering as incomprehensible as it
was painful. I could not tell if it came from suddenly divined love for
Diane Sampson equally with a poignant conviction that his fate was to
wreck her. But I did see that he needed to speak out the brutal truth.
"Steele, old man, you'll ruin Diane Sampson, because, as arrest looks
improbable to me, you'll have to kill her father."
"My God! Why, why? Say it!"
"Because Sampson is the leader of the Linrock gang of rustlers."
That night before we parted we had gone rather deeply into the plan of
action for the immediate future.
First I gave Steele my earnest counsel and then as stiff an argument as
I knew how to put up, all anent the absolute necessity of his eternal
vigilance. If he got shot in a fair encounter with his enemies--well,
that was a Ranger's risk and no disgrace. But to be massacred in bed,
knifed, in the dark, shot in the back, ambushed in any manner--not one
of these miserable ends must be the last record of Vaughn Steele.
He promised me in a way that made me wonder if he would ever sleep again
or turn his back on anyone--made me wonder too, at the menace in his
voice. Steele seemed likely to be torn two ways, and already there was a
hint of future desperation.
It was agreed that I make cautious advances to Hoden and Morton, and
when I could satisfy myself of their trustworthiness reveal my identity
to them. Through this I was to cultivate Zimmer, and then other ranchers
whom we should decide could be let into the secret.
It was not only imperative that we learn through them clues by which we
might eventually fix guilt on the rustler gang, but also just as
imperative that we develop a band of deputies to help us when the fight
began.
Steele, now that he was back in Linrock, would have the center of the
stage, with all eyes upon him. We agreed, moreover, that the bolder the
front now the better the chance of ultimate success. The more nerve he
showed the less danger of being ambushed, the less peril in facing
vicious men.
But we needed a jail. Prisoners had to be corraled after arrest, or the
work would be useless, almost a farce, and there was no possibility of
repeating trips to Del Rio.
We could not use an adobe house for a jail, because that could be easily
cut out of or torn down.
Finally I remembered an old stone house near the end of the main street;
it had one window and one door, and had been long in disuse. Steele
would rent it, hire men to guard and feed his prisoners; and if these
prisoners bribed or fought their way to freedom, that would not injure
the great principle for which he stood.
Both Steele and I simultaneously, from different angles of reasoning,
had arrived at a conviction of Sampson's guilt. It was not so strong as
realization; rather a divination.
Long experience in detecting, in feeling the hidden guilt of men, had
sharpened our senses for that particular thing. Steele acknowledged a
few mistakes in his day; but I, allowing for the same strength of
conviction, had never made a single mistake.
But conviction was one thing and proof vastly another. Furthermore, when
proof was secured, then came the crowning task--that of taking desperate
men in a wild country they dominated.
Verily, Steele and I had our work cut out for us. However, we were
prepared to go at it with infinite patience and implacable resolve.
Steele and I differed only in the driving incentive; of course, outside
of that one binding vow to save the Ranger Service.
He had a strange passion, almost an obsession, to represent the law of
Texas, and by so doing render something of safety and happiness to the
honest pioneers.
Beside Steele I knew I shrunk to a shadow. I was not exactly a heathen,
and certainly I wanted to help harassed people, especially women and
children; but mainly with me it was the zest, the thrill, the hazard,
the matching of wits--in a word, the adventure of the game.
Next morning I rode with the young ladies. In the light of Sally's
persistently flagrant advances, to which I was apparently blind, I saw
that my hard-won victory over self was likely to be short-lived.
That possibility made me outwardly like ice. I was an attentive,
careful, reliable, and respectful attendant, seeing to the safety of my
charges; but the one-time gay and debonair cowboy was a thing of the
past.
Sally, womanlike, had been a little--a very little--repentant; she had
showed it, my indifference had piqued her; she had made advances and
then my coldness had roused her spirit. She was the kind of girl to
value most what she had lost, and to throw consequences to the winds in
winning it back.
When I divined this I saw my revenge. To be sure, when I thought of it
I had no reason to want revenge. She had been most gracious to me.
But there was the catty thing she had said about being kissed again by
her admirers. Then, in all seriousness, sentiment aside, I dared not
make up with her.
So the cold and indifferent part I played was imperative.
We halted out on the ridge and dismounted for the usual little rest.
Mine I took in the shade of a scrubby mesquite. The girls strolled away
out of sight. It was a drowsy day, and I nearly fell asleep.
Something aroused me--a patter of footsteps or a rustle of skirts. Then
a soft thud behind me gave me at once a start and a thrill. First I saw
Sally's little brown hands on my shoulders. Then her head, with hair all
shiny and flying and fragrant, came round over my shoulder, softly
smoothing my cheek, until her sweet, saucy, heated face was right under
my eyes.
"Russ, don't you love me any more?" she whispered.