RUSS SITTELL IN ACTION
I ran like one possessed of devils down that rough slope, hurdling the
stones and crashing through the brush, with a sound in my ears that was
not all the rush of the wind. When I reached a level I kept running; but
something dragged at me. I slowed down to a walk. Never in my life had I
been victim of such sensation. I must flee from something that was
drawing me back. Apparently one side of my mind was unalterably fixed,
while the other was a hurrying conglomeration of flashes of thought,
reception of sensations. I could not get calm.
By and by, almost involuntarily, with a fleeting look backward as if in
expectation of pursuit, I hurried faster on. Action seemed to make my
state less oppressive; it eased the weight upon me. But the farther I
went on, the harder it was to continue. I was turning my back upon love,
happiness, success in life, perhaps on life itself. I was doing that,
but my decision had not been absolute. There seemed no use to go on
farther until I was absolutely sure of myself. I received a clear
warning thought that such work as seemed haunting and driving me could
never be carried out in the mood under which I labored. I hung on to
that thought. Several times I slowed up, then stopped, only to tramp on
again.
At length, as I mounted a low ridge, Linrock lay bright and green before
me, not faraway, and the sight was a conclusive check. There were
mesquites on the ridge, and I sought the shade beneath them. It was the
noon hour, with hot, glary sun and no wind. Here I had to have out my
fight. If ever in my varied life of exciting adventure I strove to
think, to understand myself, to see through difficulties, I assuredly
strove then. I was utterly unlike myself; I could not bring the old self
back; I was not the same man I once had been. But I could understand
why. It was because of Sally Langdon, the gay and roguish girl who had
bewitched me, the girl whom love had made a woman--the kind of woman
meant to make life beautiful for me.
I saw her changing through all those weeks, holding many of the old
traits and graces, acquiring new character of mind and body, to become
what I had just fled from--a woman sweet, fair, loyal, loving,
passionate.
Temptation assailed me. To have her to-morrow--my wife! She had said it.
Just twenty-four little hours, and she would be mine--the only woman I
had ever really coveted, the only one who had ever found the good in me.
The thought was alluring. I followed it out, a long, happy stage-ride
back to Austin, and then by train to her home where, as she had said,
the oranges grew and the trees waved with streamers of gray moss and the
mocking-birds made melody. I pictured that home. I wondered that long
before I had not associated wealth and luxury with her family. Always I
had owned a weakness for plantations, for the agricultural life with its
open air and freedom from towns.
I saw myself riding through the cotton and rice and cane, home to the
stately old mansion, where long-eared hounds bayed me welcome and a
woman looked for me and met me with happy and beautiful smiles. There
might--there _would_ be children. And something new, strange,
confounding with its emotion, came to life deep in my heart. There would
be children! Sally their mother; I their father! The kind of life a
lonely Ranger always yearned for and never had! I saw it all, felt it
keenly, lived its sweetness in an hour of temptation that made me weak
physically and my spirit faint and low.
For what had I turned my back on this beautiful, all-satisfying
prospect? Was it to arrest and jail a few rustlers? Was it to meet that
mocking Sampson face to face and show him my shield and reach for my
gun? Was it to kill that hated Wright? Was it to save the people of
Linrock from further greed, raids, murder? Was it to please and aid my
old captain, Neal of the Rangers? Was it to save the Service to the
State?
No--a thousand times no. It was for the sake of Steele. Because he was a
wonderful man! Because I had been his undoing! Because I had thrown
Diane Sampson into his arms! That had been my great error. This Ranger
had always been the wonder and despair of his fellow officers, so
magnificent a machine, so sober, temperate, chaste, so unremittingly
loyal to the Service, so strangely stern and faithful to his conception
of the law, so perfect in his fidelity to duty. He was the model, the
inspiration, the pride of all of us. To me, indeed, he represented the
Ranger Service. He was the incarnation of that spirit which fighting
Texas had developed to oppose wildness and disorder and crime. He would
carry through this Linrock case; but even so, if he were not killed, his
career would be ruined. He might save the Service, yet at the cost of
his happiness. He was not a machine; he was a man. He might be a perfect
Ranger; still he was a human being.
The loveliness, the passion, the tragedy of a woman, great as they were,
had not power to shake him from his duty. Futile, hopeless, vain her
love had been to influence him. But there had flashed over me with
subtle, overwhelming suggestion that not futile, not vain was _my_ love
to save him! Therefore, beyond and above all other claims, and by reason
of my wrong to him, his claim came first.
It was then there was something cold and deathlike in my soul; it was
then I bade farewell to Sally Langdon. For I knew, whatever happened, of
one thing I was sure--I would have to kill either Sampson or Wright.
Snecker could be managed; Sampson might be trapped into arrest; but
Wright had no sense, no control, no fear. He would snarl like a panther
and go for his gun, and he would have to be killed. This, of all
consummations, was the one to be calculated upon. And, of course, by
Sally's own words, that contingency would put me forever outside the
pale for her.
I did not deceive myself; I did not accept the slightest intimation of
hope; I gave her up. And then for a time regret, remorse, pain, darkness
worked their will with me.
I came out of it all bitter and callous and sore, in the most fitting of
moods to undertake a difficult and deadly enterprise. Miss Sampson
completely slipped my mind; Sally became a wraith as of some one dead;
Steele began to fade. In their places came the bushy-bearded Snecker,
the olive-skinned Sampson with his sharp eyes, and dark, evil faced
Wright. Their possibilities began to loom up, and with my speculation
returned tenfold more thrilling and sinister the old strange zest of the
man-hunt.
It was about one o'clock when I strode into Linrock. The streets for the
most part were deserted. I went directly to the hall where Morton and
Zimmer, with their men, had been left by Steele to guard the prisoners.
I found them camping out in the place, restless, somber, anxious. The
fact that only about half the original number of prisoners were left
struck me as further indication of Morton's summary dealing. But when I
questioned him as to the decrease in number, he said bluntly that they
had escaped. I did not know whether or not to believe him. But that
didn't matter. I tried to get in some more questions, only I found that
Morton and Zimmer meant to be heard first. "Where's Steele?" they
demanded.
"He's out of town, in a safe place," I replied. "Too bad hurt for
action. I'm to rush through with the rest of the deal."
"That's good. We've waited long enough. This gang has been split, an'
if we hurry they'll never get together again. Old man Snecker showed up
to-day. He's drawin' the outfit in again. Reckon he's waitin' for
orders. Sure he's ragin' since Bo was killed. This old fox will be
dangerous if he gets goin'."
"Where is he now?" I queried.
"Over at the Hope So. Must be a dozen of the gang there. But he's the
only leader left we know of. If we get him, the rustler gang will be
broken for good. He's sent word down here for us to let our prisoners go
or there'd be a damn bloody fight. We haven't sent our answer yet. Was
hopin' Steele would show up. An' now we're sure glad you're back."
"Morton, I'll take the answer," I replied quickly. "Now there're two
things. Do you know if Sampson and Wright are at the ranch?"
"They were an hour ago. We had word. Zimmer saw Dick."
"All right. Have you any horses handy?"
"Sure. Those hitched outside belong to us."
"I want you to take a man with you, in a few moments, and ride round the
back roads and up to Sampson's house. Get off and wait under the trees
till you hear me shoot or yell, then come fast."
Morton's breast heaved; he whistled as he breathed; his neck churned.
"God Almighty! So _there_ the scent leads! We always wondered--half
believed. But no one spoke--no one had any nerve." Morton moistened his
lips; his face was livid; his big hands shook. "Russ, you can gamble on
me."
"Good. Well, that's all. Come out and get me a horse."
When I had mounted and was half-way to the Hope So, my plan, as far as
Snecker was concerned, had been formed. It was to go boldy into the
saloon, ask for the rustler, first pretend I had a reply from Morton and
then, when I had Snecker's ear, whisper a message supposedly from
Sampson. If Snecker was too keen to be decoyed I could at least surprise
him off his guard and kill him, then run for my horse. The plan seemed
clever to me. I had only one thing to fear, and that was a possibility
of the rustlers having seen my part in Steele's defense the other day.
That had to be risked. There were always some kind of risks to be faced.
It was scarcely a block and a half to the Hope So. Before I arrived I
knew I had been seen. When I dismounted before the door I felt cold, yet
there was an exhilaration in the moment. I never stepped more naturally
and carelessly into the saloon. It was full of men. There were men
behind the bar helping themselves. Evidently Blandy's place had not been
filled. Every face near the door was turned toward me; dark, intent,
scowling, malignant they were, and made me need my nerve.
"Say, boys, I've a word for Snecker," I called, quite loud. Nobody
stirred. I swept my glance over the crowd, but did not see Snecker. "I'm
in some hurry," I added.
"Bill ain't here," said a man at the table nearest me. "Air you comin'
from Morton?"
"Nit. But I'm not yellin' this message."
The rustler rose, and in a few long strides confronted me.
"Word from Sampson!" I whispered, and the rustler stared. "I'm in his
confidence. He's got to see Bill at once. Sampson sends word he's
quit--he's done--he's through. The jig is up, and he means to hit the
road out of Linrock."
"Bill'll kill him surer 'n hell," muttered the rustler. "But we all said
it'd come to thet. An' what'd Wright say?"
"Wright! Why, he's cashed in. Didn't you-all hear? Reckon Sampson shot
him."
The rustler cursed his amaze and swung his rigid arm with fist clenched
tight. "When did Wright get it?"
"A little while ago. I don't know how long. Anyway, I saw him lyin' dead
on the porch. An' say, pard, I've got to rustle. Send Bill up quick as
he comes. Tell him Sampson wants to turn over all his stock an' then
light out."
I backed to the door, and the last I saw of the rustler he was standing
there in a scowling amaze. I had fooled him all right. If only I had the
luck to have Snecker come along soon. Mounting, I trotted the horse
leisurely up the street. Business and everything else was at a
standstill in Linrock these days. The doors of the stores were
barricaded. Down side streets, however, I saw a few people, a buckboard,
and stray cattle.
When I reached the edge of town I turned aside a little and took a look
at the ruins of Steele's adobe house. The walls and debris had all been
flattened, scattered about, and if anything of, value had escaped
destruction it had disappeared. Steele, however, had left very little
that would have been of further use to him. Turning again, I continued
on my way up to the ranch. It seemed that, though I was eager rather
than backward, my mind seized avidly upon suggestion or attraction, as
if to escape the burden of grim pondering. When about half-way across
the flat, and perhaps just out of gun-shot sound of Sampson's house, I
heard the rapid clatter of hoofs on the hard road. I wheeled, expecting
to see Morton and his man, and was ready to be chagrined at their coming
openly instead of by the back way. But this was only one man, and it was
not Morton. He seemed of big build, and he bestrode a fine bay horse.
There evidently was reason for hurry, too. At about one hundred yards,
when I recognized Snecker, complete astonishment possessed me.
Well it was I had ample time to get on my guard! In wheeling my horse I
booted him so hard that he reared. As I had been warm I had my sombrero
over the pommel of the saddle. And when the head of my horse blocked any
possible sight of movement of my hand, I pulled my gun and held it
concealed under my sombrero. This rustler had bothered me in my
calculations. And here he came galloping, alone. Exultation would have
been involuntary then but for the sudden shock, and then the cold
settling of temper, the breathless suspense. Snecker pulled his huge bay
and pounded to halt abreast of me. Luck favored me. Had I ever had
anything but luck in these dangerous deals?
Snecker seemed to fume; internally there was a volcano. His wide
sombrero and bushy beard hid all of his face except his eyes, which were
deepset furnaces. He, too, like his lieutenant, had been carried
completely off balance by the strange message apparently from Sampson.
It was Sampson's name that had fooled and decoyed these men. "Hey!
You're the feller who jest left word fer some one at the Hope So?" he
asked.
"Yes," I replied, while with my left hand I patted the neck of my horse,
holding him still.
"Sampson wants me bad, eh?"
"Reckon there's only one man who wants you more."
Steadily, I met his piercing gaze. This was a rustler not to be long
victim to any ruse. I waited in cold surety.
"You thet cowboy, Russ?" he asked.
"I was--and I'm not!" I replied significantly.
The violent start of this violent outlaw was a rippling jerk of passion.
"What'n hell!" he ejaculated.
"Bill, you're easy."
"Who're you?" he uttered hoarsely.
I watched Snecker with hawk-like keenness. "United States deputy
marshal. Bill, you're under arrest!"
He roared a mad curse as his hand clapped down to his gun. Then I fired
through my sombrero. Snecker's big horse plunged. The rustler fell back,
and one of his legs pitched high as he slid off the lunging steed. His
other foot caught in the stirrup. This fact terribly frightened the
horse. He bolted, dragging the rustler for a dozen jumps. Then Snecker's
foot slipped loose. He lay limp and still and shapeless in the road. I
did not need to go back to look him over.
But to make assurance doubly sure, I dismounted, and went back to where
he lay. My bullet had gone where it had been aimed. As I rode up into
Sampson's court-yard and turned in to the porch I heard loud and angry
voices. Sampson and Wright were quarrelling again. How my lucky star
guided me! I had no plan of action, but my brain was equal to a hundred
lightning-swift evolutions. The voices ceased. The men had heard the
horse. Both of them came out on the porch. In an instant I was again the
lolling impudent cowboy, half under the influence of liquor.
"It's only Russ and he's drunk," said George Wright contemptuously.
"I heard horses trotting off there," replied Sampson. "Maybe the girls
are coming. I bet I teach them not to run off again--Hello, Russ."
He looked haggard and thin, but seemed amiable enough. He was in his
shirt-sleeves and he had come out with a gun in his hand. This he laid
on a table near the wall. He wore no belt. I rode right up to the porch
and, greeting them laconically, made a show of a somewhat tangle-footed
cowboy dismounting. The moment I got off and straightened up, I asked no
more. The game was mine. It was the great hour of my life and I met it
as I had never met another. I looked and acted what I pretended to be,
though a deep and intense passion, an almost ungovernable suspense, an
icy sickening nausea abided with me. All I needed, all I wanted was to
get Sampson and Wright together, or failing that, to maneuver into such
position that I had any kind of a chance. Sampson's gun on the table
made three distinct objects for me to watch and two of them could change
position.
"What do you want here?" demanded Wright. He was red, bloated,
thick-lipped, all fiery and sweaty from drink, though sober on the
moment, and he had the expression of a desperate man in his last stand.
It _was_ his last stand, though he was ignorant of that.
"Me--Say, Wright, I ain't fired yet," I replied, in slow-rising
resentment.
"Well, you're fired now," he replied insolently.
"Who fires me, I'd like to know?" I walked up on the porch and I had a
cigarette in one hand, a match in the other. I struck the match.
"I do," said Wright.
I studied him with apparent amusement. It had taken only one glance
around for me to divine that Sampson would enjoy any kind of a clash
between Wright and me. "Huh! You fired me once before an' it didn't go,
Wright. I reckon you don't stack up here as strong as you think."
He was facing the porch, moody, preoccupied, somber, all the time. Only
a little of his mind was concerned with me. Manifestly there were strong
forces at work. Both men were strained to a last degree, and Wright
could be made to break at almost a word. Sampson laughed mockingly at
this sally of mine, and that stung Wright. He stopped his pacing and
turned his handsome, fiery eyes on me. "Sampson, I won't stand this
man's impudence."
"Aw, Wright, cut that talk. I'm not impudent. Sampson knows I'm a good
fellow, on the square, and I have you sized up about O.K."
"All the same, Russ, you'd better dig out," said Sampson. "Don't kick up
any fuss. We're busy with deals to-day. And I expect visitors."
"Sure. I won't stay around where I ain't wanted," I replied. Then I lit
my cigarette and did not move an inch out of my tracks.
Sampson sat in a chair near the door; the table upon which lay his gun
stood between him and Wright. This position did not invite me to start
anything. But the tension had begun to be felt. Sampson had his sharp
gaze on me. "What'd you come for, anyway?" he asked suddenly.
"Well, I had some news I was asked to fetch in."
"Get it out of you then."
"See here now, Mr. Sampson, the fact is I'm a tender-hearted fellow. I
hate to hurt people's feelin's. And if I was to spring this news in Mr.
Wright's hearin', why, such a sensitive, high-tempered gentleman as he
would go plumb off his nut." Unconcealed sarcasm was the dominant note
in that speech. Wright flared up, yet he was eagerly curious. Sampson,
probably, thought I was only a little worse for drink, and but for the
way I rubbed Wright he would not have tolerated me at all.
"What's this news? You needn't be afraid of my feelings," said Wright.
"Ain't so sure of that," I drawled. "It concerns the lady you're sweet
on, an' the ranger you ain't sweet on."
Sampson jumped up. "Russ, had Diane gone out to meet Steele?" he asked
angrily.
"Sure she had," I replied.
I thought Wright would choke. He was thick-necked anyway, and the gush
of blood made him tear at the soft collar of his shirt. Both men were
excited now, moving about, beginning to rouse. I awaited my chance,
patient, cold, all my feelings shut in the vise of my will.
"How do you know she met Steele?" demanded Sampson.
"I was there. I met Sally at the same time."
"But why should my daughter meet this Ranger?"
"She's in love with him and he's in love with her."
The simple statement might have had the force of a juggernaut. I reveled
in Wright's state, but I felt sorry for Sampson. He had not outlived his
pride. Then I saw the leaping thought--would this daughter side against
him? Would she help to betray him? He seemed to shrivel up, to grow old
while I watched him.
Wright, finding his voice, cursed Diane, cursed the Ranger, then
Sampson, then me.
"You damned, selfish fool!" cried Sampson, in deep, bitter scorn. "All
you think of is yourself. Your loss of the girl! Think once of me--my
home--my life!"
Then the connection subtly put out by Sampson apparently dawned upon the
other. Somehow, through this girl, her father and cousin were to be
betrayed. I got that impression, though I could not tell how true it
was. Certainly, Wright's jealousy was his paramount emotion.
Sampson thrust me sidewise off the porch. "Go away," he ordered. He did
not look around to see if I came back. Quickly I leaped to my former
position. He confronted Wright. He was beyond the table where the gun
lay. They were close together. My moment had come. The game was
mine--and a ball of fire burst in my brain to race all over me.
"To hell with you!" burst out Wright incoherently. He was frenzied.
"I'll have her or nobody else will!"
"You never will," returned Sampson stridently. "So help me God, I'd
rather see her Ranger Steele's wife than yours!"
While Wright absorbed that shock Sampson leaned toward him, all of hate
and menace in his mien. They had forgotten the half-drunken cowboy.
"Wright, you made me what I am," continued Sampson. "I backed you,
protected you, finally I went in with you. Now it's ended. I quit you.
I'm done!" Their gray, passion-corded faces were still as stones.
"Gentlemen," I called in clear, high, far-reaching voice, the intonation
of authority, "you're both done!"
They wheeled to confront me, to see my leveled gun. "Don't move! Not a
muscle! Not a finger!" I warned. Sampson read what Wright had not the
mind to read. His face turned paler gray, to ashen.
"What d'ye mean?" yelled Wright fiercely, shrilly. It was not in him to
obey my command, to see impending death. All quivering and strung, yet
with perfect control, I raised my left hand to turn back a lapel of my
open vest. The silver shield flashed brightly.
"United States deputy marshal in service of Ranger Steele!"
Wright howled like a dog. With barbarous and insane fury, with sheer,
impotent folly, he swept a clawing hand for his gun. My shot broke his
action as it cut short his life. Before Wright even tottered, before he
loosed the gun, Sampson leaped behind him, clasped him with his left
arm, quick as lightning jerked the gun from both clutching fingers and
sheath. I shot at Sampson, then again, then a third time. All my bullets
sped into the upheld nodding Wright. Sampson had protected himself with
the body of the dead man. I had seen red flashes, puffs of smoke, had
heard quick reports. Something stung my left arm. Then a blow like wind,
light of sound yet shocking in impact, struck me, knocked me flat. The
hot rend of lead followed the blow. My heart seemed to explode, yet my
mind kept extraordinarily clear and rapid.
I raised myself, felt a post at my shoulder, leaned on it. I heard
Sampson work the action of Wright's gun. I heard the hammer click, fall
upon empty shells. He had used up all the loads in Wright's gun. I heard
him curse as a man cursed at defeat. I waited, cool and sure now, for
him to show his head or other vital part from behind his bolster. He
tried to lift the dead man, to edge him closer toward the table where
the gun lay. But, considering the peril of exposing himself, he found
the task beyond him. He bent, peering at me under Wright's arm.
Sampson's eyes were the eyes of a man who meant to kill me. There was
never any mistaking the strange and terrible light of eyes like those.
More than once I had a chance to aim at them, at the top of Sampson's
head, at a strip of his side. But I had only two shells left. I wanted
to make sure. Suddenly I remembered Morton and his man. Then I pealed
out a cry--hoarse, strange, yet far-reaching. It was answered by a
shout. Sampson heard it. It called forth all that was in the man. He
flung Wright's body off. But even as it dropped, before Sampson could
recover to leap as he surely intended for the gun, I covered him, called
piercingly to him. I could kill him there or as he moved. But one chance
I gave him.
"Don't jump for the gun! Don't! I'll kill you! I've got two shells left!
Sure as God, I'll kill you!"
He stood perhaps ten feet from the table where his gun lay. I saw him
calculating chances. He was game. He had the courage that forced me to
respect him. I just saw him measure the distance to that gun. He was
magnificent. He meant to do it. I would have to kill him.
"Sampson, listen!" I cried, very swiftly. "The game's up! You're done!
But think of your daughter! I'll spare your life, I'll give you freedom
on one condition. For her sake! I've got you nailed--all the proofs.
It was I behind the wall the other night. Blome, Hilliard, Pickens, Bo
Snecker, are dead. I killed Bo Snecker on the way up here. There lies
Wright. You're alone. And here comes Morton and his men to my aid.
"Give up! Surrender! Consent to demands and I'll spare you. You can go
free back to your old country. It's for Diane's sake! Her life, perhaps
her happiness, can be saved! Hurry, man! Your answer!"
"Suppose I refuse?" he queried, with a dark and terrible earnestness.
"Then I'll kill you in your tracks! You can't move a hand! Your word or
death! Hurry, Sampson! I can't last much longer. But I can kill you
before I drop. Be a man! For her sake! Quick! Another second now--By
God, I'll kill you!"
"All right, Russ! I give my word," he said, and deliberately walked to
the chair and fell into it, just as Morton came running up with his man.
"Put away your gun," I ordered them. "The game's up. Snecker and Wright
are dead. Sampson is my prisoner. He has my word he'll be protected.
It's for you to draw up papers with him. He'll divide all his property,
every last acre, every head of stock as you and Zimmer dictate. He gives
up all. Then he's free to leave the country, and he's never to return."