THE FIGHT IN THE HOPE SO
I could plainly see the lights of his adobe house, but of course,
nothing else was visible. There were no other lighted houses near.
Several flashes gleamed, faded swiftly, to be followed by reports, and
then the unmistakable jingle of glass.
"I guess the fools have opened up, Steele," I said. His response was an
angry grunt. It was just as well, I concluded, that things had begun to
stir. Steele needed to be roused.
Suddenly a single sharp yell pealed out. Following it came a huge flare
of light, a sheet of flame in which a great cloud of smoke or dust shot
up. Then, with accompanying darkness, burst a low, deep, thunderous
boom. The lights of the house went out, then came a crash. Points of
light flashed in a half-circle and the reports of guns blended with the
yells of furious men, and all these were swallowed up in the roar of a
mob.
Another and a heavier explosion momentarily lightened the darkness and
then rent the air. It was succeeded by a continuous volley and a steady
sound that, though composed of yells, screams, cheers, was not anything
but a hideous roar of hate. It kept up long after there could have been
any possibility of life under the ruins of that house. It was more than
hate of Steele. All that was wild and lawless and violent hurled this
deed at the Ranger Service.
Such events had happened before in Texas and other states; but,
strangely, they never happened more than once in one locality. They were
expressions, perhaps, that could never come but once.
I watched Steele through all that hideous din, that manifestation of
insane rage at his life and joy at his death, and when silence once more
reigned and he turned his white face to mine, I had a sensation of
dread. And dread was something particularly foreign to my nature.
"So Blome and the Sneckers think they've done for me," he muttered.
"Pleasant surprise for them to-morrow, eh, old man?" I queried.
"To-morrow? Look, Russ, what's left of my old 'dobe house is on fire. The
ruins can't be searched soon. And I was particular to fix things so it'd
look like I was home. I just wanted to give them a chance. It's
incomprehensible how easy men like them can be duped. Whisky-soaked!
Yes, they'll be surprised!"
He lingered a while, watching the smoldering fire and the dim columns of
smoke curling up against the dark blue. "Russ, do you suppose they heard
up at the ranch and think I'm--"
"They heard, of course," I replied. "But the girls know you're safe with
me."
"Safe? I--I almost wish to God I was there under that heap of ruins,
where the rustlers think they've left me."
"Well, Steele, old fellow, come on. We need some sleep." With Steele in
the lead, we stalked away into the open.
Two days later, about the middle of the forenoon, I sat upon a great
flat rock in the shade of a bushy mesquite, and, besides enjoying the
vast, clear sweep of gold and gray plain below, I was otherwise
pleasantly engaged. Sally sat as close to me as she could get, holding
to my arm as if she never intended to let go. On the other side Miss
Sampson leaned against me, and she was white and breathless, partly from
the quick ride out from the ranch, partly from agitation. She had grown
thinner, and there were dark shadows under her eyes, yet she seemed only
more beautiful. The red scarf with which I had signaled the girls waved
from a branch of the mesquite. At the foot of the ridge their horses
were halted in a shady spot.
"Take off your sombrero," I said to Sally. "You look hot. Besides,
you're prettier with your hair flying." As she made no move, I took it
off for her. Then I made bold to perform the same office for Miss
Sampson. She faintly smiled her thanks. Assuredly she had forgotten all
her resentment. There were little beads of perspiration upon her white
brow. What a beautiful mass of black-brown hair, with strands of red or
gold! Pretty soon she would be bending that exquisite head and face over
poor Steele, and I, who had schemed this meeting, did not care what he
might do to me.
Pretty soon, also, there was likely to be an interview that would shake
us all to our depths, and naturally, I was somber at heart. But though
my outward mood of good humor may have been pretense, it certainly was a
pleasure to be with the girls again way out in the open. Both girls were
quiet, and this made my task harder, and perhaps in my anxiety to ward
off questions and appear happy for their own sakes I made an ass of
myself with my silly talk and familiarity. Had ever a Ranger such a job
as mine?
"Diane, did Sally show you her engagement ring?" I went on, bound to
talk.
Miss Sampson either did not notice my use of her first name or she did
not object. She seemed so friendly, so helplessly wistful. "Yes. It's
very pretty. An antique. I've seen a few of them," she replied.
"I hope you'll let Sally marry me soon."
"_Let_ her? Sally Langdon? You haven't become acquainted with your
fiancee. But when--"
"Oh, next week, just as soon--"
"Russ!" cried Sally, blushing furiously.
"What's the matter?" I queried innocently.
"You're a little previous."
"Well, Sally, I don't presume to split hairs over dates. But, you see,
you've become extremely more desirable--in the light of certain
revelations. Diane, wasn't Sally the deceitful thing? An heiress all the
time! And I'm to be a planter and smoke fine cigars and drink mint
juleps! No, there won't be any juleps."
"Russ, you're talking nonsense," reproved Sally. "Surely it's no time to
be funny."
"All right," I replied with resignation. It was no task to discard that
hollow mask of humor. A silence ensued, and I waited for it to be
broken.
"Is Steele badly hurt?" asked Miss Sampson presently.
"No. Not what he or I'd call hurt at all. He's got a scalp wound, where
a bullet bounced off his skull. It's only a scratch. Then he's got
another in the shoulder; but it's not bad, either."
"Where is he now?"
"Look across on the other ridge. See the big white stone? There, down
under the trees, is our camp. He's there."
"When may--I see him?" There was a catch in her low voice.
"He's asleep now. After what happened yesterday he was exhausted, and
the pain in his head kept him awake till late. Let him sleep a while
yet. Then you can see him."
"Did he know we were coming?"
"He hadn't the slightest idea. He'll be overjoyed to see you. He can't
help that. But he'll about fall upon me with harmful intent."
"Why?"
"Well, I know he's afraid to see you."
"Why?"
"Because it only makes his duty harder."
"Ah!" she breathed.
It seemed to me that my intelligence confirmed a hope of hers and gave
her relief. I felt something terrible in the balance for Steele. And I
was glad to be able to throw them together. The catastrophe must fall,
and now the sooner it fell the better. But I experienced a tightening of
my lips and a tugging at my heart-strings.
"Sally, what do you and Diane know about the goings-on in town
yesterday?" I asked.
"Not much. George was like an insane man. I was afraid to go near him.
Uncle wore a sardonic smile. I heard him curse George--oh, terribly! I
believe he hates George. Same as day before yesterday, there were men
riding in and out. But Diane and I heard only a little, and conflicting
statements at that. We knew there was fighting. Dick and the servants,
the cowboys, all brought rumors. Steele was killed at least ten times
and came to life just as many.
"I can't recall, don't want to recall, all we heard. But this morning
when I saw the red scarf flying in the wind--well, Russ, I was so glad I
could not see through the glass any more. We knew then Steele was all
right or you wouldn't have put up the signal."
"Reckon few people in Linrock realize just what _did_ come off," I
replied with a grim chuckle.
"Russ, I want you to tell me," said Miss Sampson earnestly.
"What?" I queried sharply.
"About yesterday--what Steele did--what happened."
"Miss Sampson, I could tell you in a few short statements of fact or I
could take two hours in the telling. Which do you prefer?"
"I prefer the long telling. I want to know all about him."
"But why, Miss Sampson? Consider. This is hardly a story for a
sensitive woman's ears."
"I am no coward," she replied, turning eyes to me that flashed like dark
fire.
"But why?" I persisted. I wanted a good reason for calling up all the
details of the most strenuous and terrible day in my border experience.
She was silent a moment. I saw her gaze turn to the spot where Steele
lay asleep, and it was a pity he could not see her eyes then. "Frankly,
I don't want to tell you," I added, and I surely would have been glad to
get out of the job.
"I want to hear--because I glory in his work," she replied deliberately.
I gathered as much from the expression of her face as from the deep ring
of her voice, the clear content of her statement. She loved the Ranger,
but that was not all of her reason.
"His work?" I echoed. "Do you want him to succeed in it?"
"With all my heart," she said, with a white glow on her face.
"My God!" I ejaculated. I just could not help it. I felt Sally's small
fingers clutching my arm like sharp pincers. I bit my lips to keep them
shut. What if Steele had heard her say that? Poor, noble,
justice-loving, blind girl! She knew even less than I hoped. I forced my
thought to the question immediately at hand. She gloried in the Ranger's
work. She wanted with all her heart to see him succeed in it. She had a
woman's pride in his manliness. Perhaps, with a woman's complex,
incomprehensible motive, she wanted Steele to be shown to her in all the
power that made him hated and feared by lawless men. She had finally
accepted the wild life of this border as something terrible and
inevitable, but passing. Steele was one of the strange and great and
misunderstood men who were making that wild life pass.
For the first time I realized that Miss Sampson, through sharpened eyes
of love, saw Steele as he really was--a wonderful and necessary
violence. Her intelligence and sympathy had enabled her to see through
defamation and the false records following a Ranger; she had had no
choice but to love him; and then a woman's glory in a work that freed
men, saved women, and made children happy effaced forever the horror of
a few dark deeds of blood.
"Miss Sampson, I must tell you first," I began, and hesitated--"that I'm
not a cowboy. My wild stunts, my drinking and gaming--these were all
pretense."
"Indeed! I am very glad to hear it. And was Sally in your confidence?"
"Only lately. I am a United States deputy marshal in the service of
Steele."
She gave a slight start, but did not raise her head.
"I have deceived you. But, all the same, I've been your friend. I ask
you to respect my secret a little while. I'm telling you because
otherwise my relation to Steele yesterday would not be plain. Now, if
you and Sally will use this blanket, make yourselves more comfortable
seats, I'll begin my story."
Miss Sampson allowed me to arrange a place for her where she could rest
at ease, but Sally returned to my side and stayed there. She was an
enigma to-day--pale, brooding, silent--and she never looked at me except
when my face was half averted.
"Well," I began, "night before last Steele and I lay hidden among the
rocks near the edge of town, and we listened to and watched the
destruction of Steele's house. It had served his purpose to leave lights
burning, to have shadows blow across the window-blinds, and to have a
dummy in his bed. Also, he arranged guns to go off inside the house at
the least jar. Steele wanted evidence against his enemies. It was not
the pleasantest kind of thing to wait there listening to that drunken
mob. There must have been a hundred men. The disturbance and the intent
worked strangely upon Steele. It made him different. In the dark I
couldn't tell how he looked, but I felt a mood coming in him that fairly
made me dread the next day.
"About midnight we started for our camp here. Steele got in some sleep,
but I couldn't. I was cold and hot by turns, eager and backward, furious
and thoughtful. You see, the deal was such a complicated one, and
to-morrow certainly was nearing the climax. By morning I was sick,
distraught, gloomy, and uncertain. I had breakfast ready when Steele
awoke. I hated to look at him, but when I did it was like being revived.
"He said: 'Russ, you'll trail alongside me to-day and through the rest
of this mess.'
"That gave me another shock. I want to explain to you girls that this
was the first time in my life I was backward at the prospects of a
fight. The shock was the jump of my pulse. My nerve came back. To line
up with Steele against Blome and his gang--that would be great!
"'All right, old man,' I replied. 'We're going after them, then?'
"He only nodded.
"After breakfast I watched him clean and oil and reload his guns. I
didn't need to ask him if he expected to use them. I didn't need to urge
upon him Captain Neal's command.
"'Russ,' said Steele, 'we'll go in together. But before we get to town
I'll leave you and circle and come in at the back of the Hope So. You
hurry on ahead, post Morton and his men, get the lay of the gang, if
possible, and then be at the Hope So when I come in.'
"I didn't ask him if I had a free hand with my gun. I intended to have
that. We left camp and hurried toward town. It was near noon when we
separated.
"I came down the road, apparently from Sampson's ranch. There was a
crowd around the ruins of Steele's house. It was one heap of crumbled
'dobe bricks and burned logs, still hot and smoking. No attempt had been
made to dig into the ruins. The curious crowd was certain that Steele
lay buried under all that stuff. One feature of that night assault made
me ponder. Daylight discovered the bodies of three dead men, rustlers,
who had been killed, the report went out, by random shots. Other
participants in the affair had been wounded. I believed Morton and his
men, under cover of the darkness and in the melee, had sent in some
shots not calculated upon the program.
"From there I hurried to town. Just as I had expected, Morton and Zimmer
were lounging in front of the Hope So. They had company, disreputable
and otherwise. As yet Morton's crowd had not come under suspicion. He
was wild for news of Steele, and when I gave it, and outlined the plan,
he became as cool and dark and grim as any man of my kind could have
wished. He sent Zimmer to get the others of their clique. Then he
acquainted me with a few facts, although he was noncommittal in regard
to my suspicion as to the strange killing of the three rustlers.
"Blome, Bo Snecker, Hilliard, and Pickens, the ringleaders, had painted
the town in celebration of Steele's death. They all got gloriously drunk
except old man Snecker. He had cold feet, they said. They were too happy
to do any more shooting or mind what the old rustler cautioned. It was
two o'clock before they went to bed.
"This morning, after eleven, one by one they appeared with their
followers. The excitement had died down. Ranger Steele was out of the
way and Linrock was once more wide open, free and easy. Blome alone
seemed sullen and spiritless, unresponsive to his comrades and their
admirers. And now, at the time of my arrival, the whole gang, with the
exception of old Snecker, were assembled in the Hope So.
"'Zimmer will be clever enough to drift his outfit along one or two at a
time?' I asked Morton, and he reassured me. Then we went into the
saloon.
"There were perhaps sixty or seventy men in the place, more than half of
whom were in open accord with Blome's gang. Of the rest there were many
of doubtful repute, and a few that might have been neutral, yet all the
time were secretly burning to help any cause against these rustlers. At
all events, I gathered that impression from the shadowed faces, the
tense bodies, the too-evident indication of anything but careless
presence there. The windows were open. The light was clear. Few men
smoked, but all had a drink before them. There was the ordinary subdued
hum of conversation. I surveyed the scene, picked out my position so as
to be close to Steele when he entered, and sauntered round to it. Morton
aimlessly leaned against a post.
"Presently Zimmer came in with a man and they advanced to the bar. Other
men entered as others went out. Blome, Bo Snecker, Hilliard, and Pickens
had a table full in the light of the open windows. I recognized the
faces of the two last-named, but I had not, until Morton informed me,
known who they were. Pickens was little, scrubby, dusty, sandy, mottled,
and he resembled a rattlesnake. Hilliard was big, gaunt, bronzed, with
huge mustache and hollow, fierce eyes. I never had seen a grave-robber,
but I imagined one would be like Hilliard. Bo Snecker was a sleek, slim,
slender, hard-looking boy, marked dangerous, because he was too young
and too wild to have caution or fear. Blome, the last of the bunch,
showed the effects of a bad night.
"You girls remember how handsome he was, but he didn't look it now. His
face was swollen, dark, red, and as it had been bright, now it was dull.
Indeed, he looked sullen, shamed, sore. He was sober now. Thought was
written on his clouded brow. He was awakening now to the truth that the
day before had branded him a coward and sent him out to bolster up
courage with drink. His vanity had begun to bleed. He knew, if his
faithful comrades had not awakened to it yet, that his prestige had been
ruined. For a gunman, he had suffered the last degradation. He had been
bidden to draw and he had failed of the nerve.
"He breathed heavily; his eyes were not clear; his hands were shaky.
Almost I pitied this rustler who very soon must face an incredibly swift
and mercilessly fatal Ranger. Face him, too, suddenly, as if the grave
had opened to give up its dead.
"Friends and comrades of this center group passed to and fro, and there
was much lazy, merry, though not loud, talk. The whole crowd was still
half-asleep. It certainly was an auspicious hour for Steele to confront
them, since that duty was imperative. No man knew the stunning
paralyzing effect of surprise better than Steele. I, of course, must
take my cue from him, or the sudden development of events.
"But Jack Blome did not enter into my calculations. I gave him, at most,
about a minute to live after Steele entered the place. I meant to keep
sharp eyes all around. I knew, once with a gun out, Steele could kill
Blome's comrades at the table as quick as lightning, if he chose. I
rather thought my game was to watch his outside partners. This was
right, and as it turned out, enabled me to save Steele's life.
"Moments passed and still the Ranger did not come. I began to get
nervous. Had he been stopped? I scouted the idea. Who could have stopped
him, then? Probably the time seemed longer than it really was. Morton
showed the strain, also. Other men looked drawn, haggard, waiting as if
expecting a thunderbolt. Once in my roving gaze I caught Blandy's glinty
eye on me. I didn't like the gleam. I said to myself I'd watch him if I
had to do it out of the back of my head. Blandy, by the way, is--was--I
should say, the Hope So bartender." I stopped to clear my throat and get
my breath.
"Was," whispered Sally. She quivered with excitement. Miss Sampson bent
eyes upon me that would have stirred a stone man.
"Yes, he was once," I replied ambiguously, but mayhap my grimness
betrayed the truth. "Don't hurry me, Sally. I guarantee you'll be sick
enough presently.
"Well, I kept my eyes shifty. And I reckon I'll never forget that room.
Likely I saw what wasn't really there. In the excitement, the suspense,
I must have made shadows into real substance. Anyway, there was the
half-circle of bearded, swarthy men around Blome's table. There were the
four rustlers--Blome brooding, perhaps vaguely, spiritually, listening
to a knock; there was Bo Snecker, reckless youth, fondling a flower he
had, putting the stem in his glass, then to his lips, and lastly into
the buttonhole of Blome's vest; there was Hilliard, big, gloomy, maybe
with his cavernous eyes seeing the hell where I expected he'd soon be;
and last, the little dusty, scaly Pickens, who looked about to leap and
sting some one.
"In the lull of the general conversation I heard Pickens say: 'Jack,
drink up an' come out of it. Every man has an off day. You've gambled
long enough to know every feller gits called. An' as Steele has cashed,
what the hell do you care?
"Hilliard nodded his ghoul's head and blinked his dead eyes. Bo Snecker
laughed. It wasn't any different laugh from any other boy's. I
remembered then that he killed Hoden. I began to sweat fire. Would
Steele ever come?
"'Jim, the ole man hed cold feet an' he's give 'em to Jack,' said Bo.
'It ain't nothin' to lose your nerve once. Didn't I run like a scared
jack-rabbit from Steele? Watch me if he comes to life, as the ole man
hinted!'
"'About mebbe Steele wasn't in the 'dobe at all. Aw, thet's a joke! I
seen him in bed. I seen his shadder. I heard his shots comin' from the
room. Jack, you seen an' heerd same as me.'
"'Sure. I know the Ranger's cashed,' replied Blome. 'It's not that. I'm
sore, boys.'
"'Deader 'n a door-nail in hell!' replied Pickens, louder, as he lifted
his glass. 'Here's to Lone Star Steele's ghost! An' if I seen it this
minnit I'd ask it to waltz with me!'
"The back door swung violently, and Steele, huge as a giant, plunged
through and leaped square in front of that table.
"Some one of them let out a strange, harsh cry. It wasn't Blome or
Snecker--probably Pickens. He dropped the glass he had lifted. The cry
had stilled the room, so the breaking of the glass was plainly heard.
For a space that must have been short, yet seemed long, everybody stood
tight. Steele with both hands out and down, leaned a little, in a way I
had never seen him do. It was the position of a greyhound, but that was
merely the body of him. Steele's nerve, his spirit, his meaning was
there, like lightning about to strike. Blome maintained a ghastly,
stricken silence.
"Then the instant was plain when he realized this was no ghost of
Steele, but the Ranger in the flesh. Blome's whole frame rippled as
thought jerked him out of his trance. His comrades sat stone-still. Then
Hilliard and Pickens dived without rising from the table. Their haste
broke the spell.
"I wish I could tell it as quick as it happened. But Bo Snecker, turning
white as a sheet, stuck to Blome. All the others failed him, as he had
guessed they would fail. Low curses and exclamations were uttered by men
sliding and pressing back, but the principals were mute. I was thinking
hard, yet I had no time to get to Steele's side. I, like the rest, was
held fast. But I kept my eyes sweeping around, then back again to that
center pair.
"Blome slowly rose. I think he did it instinctively. Because if he had
expected his first movement to start the action he never would have
moved. Snecker sat partly on the rail of his chair, with both feet
square on the floor, and he never twitched a muscle. There was a
striking difference in the looks of these two rustlers. Snecker had
burning holes for eyes in his white face. At the last he was staunch,
defiant, game to the core. He didn't think. But Blome faced death and
knew it. It was infinitely more than the facing of foes, the taking of
stock, preliminary to the even break. Blome's attitude was that of a
trapped wolf about to start into savage action; nevertheless, equally it
was the pitifully weak stand of a ruffian against ruthless and powerful
law.
"The border of Pecos County could have had no greater lesson than
this--Blome face-to-face with the Ranger. That part of the border
present saw its most noted exponent of lawlessness a coward, almost
powerless to go for his gun, fatally sure of his own doom.
"But that moment, seeming so long, really so short, had to end. Blome
made a spasmodic upheaval of shoulder and arm. Snecker a second later
flashed into movement.
"Steele blurred in my sight. His action couldn't be followed. But I saw
his gun, waving up, flame red once--twice--and the reports almost boomed
together.
"Blome bent forward, arm down, doubled up, and fell over the table and
slid to the floor.
"But Snecker's gun cracked with Steele's last shot. I heard the bullet
strike Steele. It made me sick as if it had hit me. But Steele never
budged. Snecker leaped up, screaming, his gun sputtering to the floor.
His left hand swept to his right arm, which had been shattered by
Steele's bullet.
"Blood streamed everywhere. His screams were curses, and then ended,
testifying to a rage hardly human. Then, leaping, he went down on his
knees after the gun.
"Don't pick it up," called Steele; his command would have checked anyone
save an insane man. For an instant it even held Snecker. On his knees,
right arm hanging limp, left extended, and face ghastly with agony and
fiendish fury, he was certainly an appalling sight.
"'Bo, you're courtin' death,' called a hard voice from the crowd.
"'Snecker, wait. Don't make me kill you!' cried Steele swiftly. 'You're
still a boy. Surrender! You'll outlive your sentence many years. I
promise clemency. Hold, you fool!'
"But Snecker was not to be denied the last game move. He scrabbled for
his gun. Just then something, a breathtaking intuition--I'll never know
what--made me turn my head. I saw the bartender deliberately aim a huge
gun at Steele. If he had not been so slow, I would have been too late. I
whirled and shot. Talk about nick of time! Blandy pulled trigger just as
my bullet smashed into his head.
"He dropped dead behind the bar and his gun dropped in front. But he had
hit Steele.
"The Ranger staggered, almost fell. I thought he was done, and, yelling,
I sped to him.
"But he righted himself. Then I wheeled again. Someone in the crowd
killed Bo Snecker as he wobbled up with his gun. That was the signal for
a wild run for outdoors, for cover. I heard the crack of guns and
whistle of lead. I shoved Steele back of the bar, falling over Blandy as
I did so.
"When I got up Steele was leaning over the bar with a gun in each hand.
There was a hot fight then for a minute or so, but I didn't fire a shot.
Morton and his crowd were busy. Men ran everywhere, shooting, ducking,
cursing. The room got blue with smoke till you couldn't see, and then
the fight changed to the street.
"Steele and I ran out. There was shooting everywhere. Morton's crowd
appeared to be in pursuit of rustlers in all directions. I ran with
Steele, and did not observe his condition until suddenly he fell right
down in the street. Then he looked so white and so bloody I thought he'd
stopped another bullet and--"
Here Miss Sampson's agitation made it necessary for me to halt my story,
and I hoped she had heard enough. But she was not sick, as Sally
appeared to me; she simply had been overcome by emotion. And presently,
with a blaze in her eyes that showed how her soul was aflame with
righteous wrath at these rustlers and ruffians, and how, whether she
knew it or not, the woman in her loved a fight, she bade me go on. So I
persevered, and, with poor little Sally sagging against me, I went on
with the details of that fight.
I told how Steele rebounded from his weakness and could no more have
been stopped than an avalanche. For all I saw, he did not use his guns
again. Here, there, everywhere, as Morton and his squad cornered a
rustler, Steele would go in, ordering surrender, promising protection.
He seemed to have no thoughts of bullets. I could not hold him back, and
it was hard to keep pace with him. How many times he was shot at I had
no idea, but it was many. He dragged forth this and that rustler, and
turned them all over to Morton to be guarded. More than once he
protected a craven rustler from the summary dealing Morton wanted to see
in order.
I told Miss Sampson particularly how Steele appeared to me, what his
effect was on these men, how toward the end of the fight rustlers were
appealing to him to save them from these new-born vigilantes. I believed
I drew a picture of the Ranger that would live forever in her heart of
hearts. If she were a hero-worshiper she would have her fill.
One thing that was strange to me--leaving fight, action, blood, peril
out of the story--the singular exultation, for want of some better term,
that I experienced in recalling Steele's look, his wonderful cold,
resistless, inexplicable presence, his unquenchable spirit which was at
once deadly and merciful. Other men would have killed where he saved. I
recalled this magnificent spiritual something about him, remembered it
strongest in the ring of his voice as he appealed to Bo Snecker not to
force him to kill. Then I told how we left a dozen prisoners under guard
and went back to the Hope So to find Blome where he had fallen. Steele's
bullet had cut one of the petals of the rose Snecker had playfully put
in the rustler's buttonhole. Bright and fatal target for an eye like
Steele's! Bo Snecker lay clutching his gun, his face set rigidly in that
last fierce expression of his savage nature. There were five other dead
men on the floor, and, significant of the work of Steele's unknown
allies, Hilliard and Pickens were among them.
"Steele and I made for camp then," I concluded. "We didn't speak a word
on the way out. When we reached camp all Steele said was for me to go
off and leave him alone. He looked sick. I went off, only not very far.
I knew what was wrong with him, and it wasn't bullet-wounds. I was near
when he had his spell and fought it out.
"Strange how spilling blood affects some men! It never bothered me much.
I hope I'm human, too. I certainly felt an awful joy when I sent that
bullet into Blandy's bloated head in time. And I'll always feel that way
about it. But Steele's different."