 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This recording is by Mark Smith of Simpsonville, South Carolina. The Lone Star Ranger by Zane Gray. CHAPTER VI Next morning Dwayne 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. Dwayne had intelligence and keenness enough to see his peril, 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 to 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 were, phantoms of his conscience. He could dismiss the thought of them then. He could scarcely remember or believe that this strange feat of fancy or imagination had troubled him, pained him, made him sleepless and sick. That morning Dwayne spent an unhappy hour wrestling decision out of the unstable condition of his mind. But at length he determined to create interest in all that he came across and so forget himself as much as possible. He had an opportunity now to see just what the outlaw's life really was. He meant to force himself to be curious, sympathetic, clear-sighted. And he would stay there in the valley until its possibilities had been exhausted or until circumstances sent him out upon his uncertain way. When he returned to the shack, Euker was cooking dinner. Say, Buck, I've news for you," he said, and his tongue conveyed either pride in his possession of such news or pride in Dwayne. Felderneem Bradley wrote in this morning. He's heard some about you. Told about the ace of spades they put over the bullet holes in that cow-puncher bane you plugged. Then there was a rancher shot at a water-hole twenty miles south of Wilston. Reckon you didn't do it? No, I certainly did not, replied Dwayne. Well, you get to blame. It ain't nothing for a feller to be saddled with gun-plays he never made. And, Buck, if you ever get famous, as seems likely, you'll be blamed for many a crime. The border will make an outlaw and murderer out of you. Well, that's enough of that. I've more news. You're going to be popular. Popular? What do you mean? I met Bland's wife this morning. She's seen you the other day when you wrote in. She Shoal wants to meet you, and so do some of the other women in camp. They always want to meet the new fellers who just come in. It's lonesome for women here, and they like to hear news from the towns. Well, you girl, I don't want to be impolite, but I'd rather not meet any women. Rejoined Dwayne. I was afraid you wouldn't. Don't blame you much. Women are hell. I was hoping, though, you might talk a little to that poor lonesome kid. What kid? inquired Dwayne in surprise. But didn't I tell you about Jenny, the girl Bland's holding here, the one Jack Rabbit Benson had a hand in stealing? You mentioned a girl. That's all. Tell me now," replied Dwayne abruptly. Well, I got it this way. Maybe it's straight, maybe it ain't. Some years ago Benson made a trip over the river to buy a muskow and other drinks. He'll sneak over there once in a while. And as I get it, he run across a gang of greasers with some gringo prisoners. I don't know, but I reckon there was some Bartrand, perhaps murderin'. Anyway, Benson fetched the girl back. She was more dead than alive. But it turned out she was only starved and scared half to death. She hadn't been harmed. I reckon she was then about fourteen years old. Benson's idea, he said, was to use her in his den to sell and drinks and the like. But I never went on Jack Rabbit's word. Bland seen the kid right off and took her. Bought her from Benson. You can gamble Bland didn't do that from notions of chivalry. I ain't gain sin, however, but that Jenny was better off with Kate Bland. She's been hard on Jenny, but she's kept Bland and the other men from treating the kid shameful. Late Jenny has grown into an all-fire pretty girl, and Kate is powerful jealous of her. I can see a hell-brewin' over there in Bland's cabin. That's why I wish you'd come over with me. Bland's hardly ever home. His wife's invited you. Sure, as she gets sweet on you, as she has on—well, that'd complicate matters. But you get to see Jenny, and maybe you can help her. Mind, I ain't hintin' nothin'. I just wantin' to put her in your way. You're a man that can think for yourself. I had a baby girl once, and if she'd live she'd be as big as Jenny now, and by God I wouldn't want her here in Bland's camp. I'll go, Euker. Take me over," replied Dwayne. He felt Euker's eyes upon him. The old outlaw, however, had no more to say. In the afternoon Euker set off with Dwayne, and soon they reached Bland's cabin. Dwayne remembered it as the one where he had seen the pretty woman watchin' him ride by. He could not recall what she looked like. The cabin was the same as the other adobe structures in the valley, but it was larger and pleasantly located rather high up in a grove of cotton-woods. In the windows and upon the porch were evidences of a woman's hand. Through the open door Dwayne caught a glimpse of bright Mexican blankets and rugs. Euker knocked upon the side of the door. Is that you, Euker? asked the girl's voice, low, hesitatingly. The tone of it, rather deep and with a note of fear, struck Dwayne. He wondered what she would be like. Yes, it's me, Jenny. Where's Mrs. Bland? answered Euker. She went over to Dakers. There's somebody sick, replied the girl. Euker turned and whispered something about luck. The snap of the outlaw's eyes was added significance to Dwayne. Jenny, come out or let us come in. Here's the young man I was tellin' you about. Euker said, Oh, I can't. I look so—so—never mind how you look! interrupted the outlaw in a whisper. It ain't no time to care for that. Here's the young Dwayne. Jenny, he's no wrestler, no thief. He's different. Come on, Jenny, maybe he'll— Euker did not complete his sentence. He had spoken low, with his glance shifting from side to side. But what he said was sufficient to bring the girl quickly. She appeared in the doorway with downcast eyes and a stain of red in her white cheek. She had a pretty sad face and bright hair. Don't be bashful, Jenny, said Euker. You and Dwayne have a chance to talk a little. Now I'll go fetch Mrs. Blam, but I won't be hurryin'. With that Euker went away through the Cottonwoods. I'm glad to meet you, Miss Jenny, said Dwayne. Euker didn't mention your last name. He asked me to come over to—Dwayne's attempt at pleasantry hauled short when Jenny lifted her lashes to look at him. Some kind of a shock went through Dwayne. Her gray eyes were beautiful, but it had not been beauty that cut short his speech. He seemed to see a tragic struggle between hope and doubt that shone in her piercing gaze. She kept looking, and Dwayne could not break the silence. It was no ordinary moment. What did you come here for? She asked at last. To see you, replied Dwayne. Why? Well, Euker thought he wanted me to talk to you, cheer you up a bit, replied Dwayne somewhat lamely. The earnest eyes embarrassed him. Euker's good. He's the only person in this awful place who's been good to me, but he's afraid of bland. He said you were different. Who are you? Dwayne told her. You're not a robber or a rustler or murderer of some bad man come here to hide. No, I'm not, replied Dwayne, trying to smile. Then why are you here? I'm on the dodge. You know what that means. I got in a shooting scrape at home and had to run off. When it blows over I hope to go back. But you can't be honest here. Yes, I can. Oh, I know what these outlaws are. Yes, you're different. She kept the strained gaze upon him, but hope was kindling, and the hard lines of her youthful face were softening. Being sweet and warm, stirred deep in Dwayne as he realized the unfortunate girl was experiencing a birth of trust in him. Oh, God! Maybe you're the man to save me, to take me away before it's too late. Dwayne's spirit leaped. Maybe I am, he replied instantly. She seemed to check a blind impulse to run into his arms. Her cheek flamed, her lips quivered, her bosom swelled under her ragged dress. Then the glow began to fade. Doubt once more assailed her. It can't be. You're only— After me, too, like bland, like all of them. Dwayne's long arms went out, and his hands clasped her shoulders. He shook her. Look at me. Straight in the eye. There are decent men. Aren't you a father, a brother? They're dead, killed by raiders. We lived in Dimmock County. I was carried away. Jenny replied hurriedly. She put up an appealing hand to him. Forgive me. I believe—I know you're good. I was only—I live so much in fear. I'm half-crazy. I've almost forgotten what good men are like, Mr. Dwayne. You'll help me. Yes, Jenny, I will. Tell me how. What must I do? Have you any plan? Oh, no. But take me away. I'll try, said Dwayne simply. That won't be easy, though. I must have time to think. You must help me. There are many things to consider. Horses, food, trails, and the best time to make the attempt. Are you watched, kept prisoner? No. I could have run off lots of times. But I was afraid. I'd only have fallen into worse hands. Euker has told me that. Mrs. Bland beats me, half-starves me, but she has kept me from her husband and these other dogs. She's been as good as that, and I'm grateful. She hasn't done it for love of me, though. She always hated me. And lately she's growing jealous. There was a man came here by the name of Spence, so he called himself. He tried to be kind to me, but she wouldn't let him. She was in love with him. She's a bad woman. Bland finally shot Spence, and that ended that. She's been jealous ever since. I hear her fighting with Bland about me. She swears she'll kill me before he gets me. And Bland laughs in her face. Then I've heard Chess Allaway try to persuade Bland to give me to him. But Bland doesn't laugh then. Just lately, before Bland went away, things almost came to a head. I couldn't sleep. I wished Mrs. Bland would kill me. I'll certainly kill myself if they ruin me. Dwayne, you must be quick if you'd save me. I realize that, replied he thoughtfully. I think my difficulty will be to fool Mrs. Bland. If she suspected me, she'd have the whole gang of outlaws on me at once. She would that. You've got to be careful, and quick. What kind of woman is she? inquired Dwayne. She's—she's brazen. I've heard her with her lovers. They get drunk sometimes when Bland's away. She's got a terrible temper. She's vain. She likes flattery. Oh, you could fool her easy enough if you'd lower yourself to—to—to make love to her? Interrupted Dwayne. Jenny bravely turned shame-dyes to meet his. My girl, I'd do worse than that to get you away from here, he said bluntly. But Dwayne, she faltered, and again she put out the appealing hand. Bland would kill you! Dwayne made no reply to this. He was trying to still a rising strange tumult in his breast. The old emotion, the rush of an instinct to kill, he turned cold all over. Chess Allaway would kill you if Bland doesn't went on Jenny with her tragic eyes on Dwayne's. Maybe he will, replied Dwayne. It was difficult for him to force a smile, but he achieved one. Oh, better take me off at once, she said, save me without risking so much, without making love to Mrs. Bland. Surely if I can. There, I see you could come in with a woman. It's her! Oh, she mustn't see me with you! Wait a moment! whispered Dwayne as Jenny slipped in doors. We've settled it. Don't forget. I'll find some way to get word to you, perhaps through Yooker. Meanwhile, keep up your courage. Remember, I'll save you somehow. We'll try a strategy first. Whatever you see or hear me do, don't think less of me. Jenny checked him with a gesture and a wonderful gray flash of eyes. I'll bless you with every drop of blood in my heart! she whispered passionately. It was only as she turned away into the room that Dwayne saw she was lame, and that she wore Mexican sandals over bare feet. He sat down upon a bench on the porch and directed his attention to the approaching couple. The trees of the grove were thick enough for him to make reasonably sure that Mrs. Bland had not seen him talking to Jenny. When the outlaw's wife drew near, Dwayne saw that she was a tall, strong, full-bodied woman, rather good-looking, with a full-blown, bold attractiveness. Dwayne was more concerned with her expression than with her good looks, and as she looked unsuspicious he felt relieved. The situation then took on a singular zest. Dwayne came up on the porch and awkwardly introduced Dwayne to Mrs. Bland. She was young, probably not over twenty-five, and not quite so prepossessing at close range. Her eyes were large, rather prominent, and brown in color. Her mouth, too, was large, with the lips full, and she had white teeth. Dwayne took her proffered hand and remarked frankly that he was glad to meet her. Mrs. Bland appeared pleased, and her laugh, which followed, was loud and rather musical. Mr. Dwayne, Buck Dwayne, Yooker said, didn't he? She asked. Buckley, corrected Dwayne. The nickname's not of my choosing. I'm certainly glad to meet you, Buckley Dwayne, she said, as she took the seat Dwayne offered her. Sorry to have been out. Kid Fuller's lying over at Deggers. You know he was shot last night. He's got fever to-day. When Bland's away I have to nurse all these shot-up boys, and it sure takes my time. Have you been waiting here alone? Didn't see that slatterin' girl of mine. She gave him a sharp glance. The woman had an extraordinary play of feature, Dwayne thought, and unless she was smiling was not pretty at all. I've been alone," replied Dwayne. Haven't seen anybody but a sick-looking girl with a bucket, and she ran when she saw me. That was Jen, said Mrs. Bland. She's the kid we keep here, and she hardly pays her keep. Did Yooker tell you about her? Now that I think of it, he did say something or other. What did he tell you about me? Bluntly asked Mrs. Bland. Well, Kate, replied Yooker, speaking for himself, you needn't worry none, for I told Buck nothing but compliments. Evidently the outlaw's wife liked Yooker, for her keen glance rested with amusement upon him. As for Jen, I'll tell you her story some day, went on the woman. It's a common enough story along this river. Yooker here is a tender-hearted old fool, and Jen has taken him in. Well, seeing as how you got me figured correct, replied Yooker dryly, I'll go in and talk to Jenny, if I may. Certainly, go ahead. Jen calls you her best friend. Said Mrs. Bland, amiably. You're always fetching some Mexican stuff, and that's why, I guess. When Yooker had shuffled into the house, Mrs. Bland turned to Dwayne with curiosity and interest in her gaze. Bland told me about you. What did he say? queried Dwayne in pretended alarm. Oh, you needn't think he's done you dirt. Bland's not that kind of a man. He said, Kate, there's a young fellow in camp, rode in here on the dodge. He's no criminal, and he refused to join my band. As she would, slickest hand were the gun I've seen for many a day. I'd like to see him and chess-meet out there in the road. Then Bland went on to tell how you and Bossimer came together. What did you say? inquired Dwayne as she paused. Me? Why, I asked him what you looked like, she replied gaily. Well, went on Dwayne. Magnificent chap, Bland said. Bigger than any man in the valley, just a great blue-eyed sunburn boy. Huh! exclaimed Dwayne. I'm sorry he led you to expect somebody worth seeing. But I'm not disappointed, she returned archly. Dwayne, are you going to stay here long in camp? Yes, till I run out of money and have to move. Mrs. Bland's face underwent one of the singular changes. The smiles and flushes and glances, all that had been coquettish about her, had led her a certain attractiveness, almost beauty and youth. But with some powerful emotion she changed and instantly became a woman of discontent. Dwayne imagined of deep, violent nature. I'll tell you, Dwayne, she said earnestly. I'm sure glad if you mean to bide here awhile. I'm a miserable woman, Dwayne. I'm an outlaw's wife and I hate him and the life I have to lead. I come of a good family in Brownsville. I never knew Bland was an outlaw till long after he married me. We were separated at times and I imagined he was away on business. But the truth came out. Bland shot my own cousin who told me. My family cast me off and I had to flee with Bland. I was only eighteen then. I've lived here since. I never see a decent woman or man. I never hear anything about my old home or folks or friends. I'm buried here. Buried alive with a lot of thieves and murderers. Can you blame me for being glad to see a young fellow, a gentleman, like the boys I used to go with? I tell you it makes me feel full. I want to cry. I'm sick for somebody to talk to. I have no children. Thank God! And if I had, I'd not stay here. I'm sick of this whole. I'm lonely. There appeared to be no doubt about the truth of all this. Genuine emotion checked then halted the hurried speech. She broke down and cried. It seemed strange to Dwayne that an outlaw's wife, and a woman who fitted her consort in the wild nature of their surroundings, should have weakness enough to weep. Dwayne believed and pitied her. I'm sorry for you, he said. Don't be sorry for me, she said. That only makes me see the difference between you and me. And don't pay any attention to what these outlaws say about me. They're ignorant. They couldn't understand me. You'll hear that Blaine killed men who ran after me, but that's a lie. Blaine, like all the other outlaws along this river, is always looking for somebody to kill. He swears not, but I don't believe him. He explains that gunplay gravitates to men who are the real thing, that it is provoked by the four flushes, the bad man. I don't know. All I know is that somebody's being killed every other day. He hated Spence before Spence ever saw me. Would Blaine object if I called on you occasionally? Required Dwayne. No, he wouldn't. He likes me to have friends. Ask him yourself when he comes back. The trouble has been that two or three of his men fell in love with me, and when half-drunk got to fighting, you're not going to do that. I'm not going to get half-drunk, that's certain, replied Dwayne. He was surprised to see her eyes dilate, then glow with fire. Before she could reply, Euker returned to the porch, and that put an end to the conversation. Dwayne was content to let the matter rest there, and had little more to say. Euker and Mrs. Blaine talked and joked, while Dwayne listened. He tried to form some estimate of her character. Manifestly she had suffered a wrong, if not worse, at Blaine's hands. She was bitter, morbid, over-emotional. If she was a liar, which seemed likely enough, she was a frank one, and believed herself. She had no cunning. The thing which struck Dwayne so forcibly was that she thirsted for respect. In that, better than in her weakness of vanity, he thought he had discovered a trait through which he could manage her. Once while he was revolving these thoughts, he happened to glance into the house, and deep in the shadow of a corner he caught a pale gleam of Jenny's face with great, staring eyes on him. She had been watching him, listening to what he said. He saw from her expression that she had realized what had been so hard for her to believe. Watching his chance, he flashed a look at her, and then it seemed to him the change in her face was wonderful. Later, after he had left Mrs. Blaine with a meaning, adios, mañana, and was walking along beside the old outlaw, he found himself thinking of the girl instead of the woman, and of how he had seen her face blaze with hope and gratitude. CHAPTER 7 That night Dwayne was not troubled by ghosts haunting his waking and sleeping hours. He awoke feeling bright and eager, and grateful to Euker for having put something worthwhile into his mind. During breakfast, however, he was unusually thoughtful, working over the idea of how much or how little he would confide in the outlaw. He was aware of Euker's scrutiny. "'Wow,' began the old man at last. "'How'd you make out with the kid?' "'Kid,' inquired Dwayne tentatively. "'Ginny, I mean. What'd you and she talk about?' "'We had a little chat. You know you wanted me to cheer her up.'" Euker sat with coffee-cup poised and narrow eyes, studying Dwayne. "'Reckon you cheered her all right. What I'm afeared of is maybe you'd done the job too well.'" "'How so?' "'Well, when I was into gin last night, I thought she was half crazy. She was bursting with excitement, and the look in her eyes hurt me. She wouldn't tell me a darn word you said. But she hung on to my hands and showed every way without speaking how she wanted to thank me for bringing you over. Buck, it was plain to me that you'd either gone the limit or else you'd been kind of prodigal of cheer and hope. I'd hate to think you'd led Ginny to hope more and ever would come true.'" Euker paused, and as there seemed no reply forthcoming, he went on. "'Buck, I seen some outlaws whose word was good. Mine is, you can trust me. I trusted you, didn't I, taking you over there and putting you wise to my trying to help that poor kid?' Thus enjoined by Euker, Dwayne began to tell the conversations with Jenny and Mrs. Bland word for word. Long before he had reached an end, Euker sat down the coffee-cup and began to stare, and at the conclusion of the story his face lost some of its red color, and beads of sweat stood out thickly on his brow. "'Well, if that doesn't flow on me,' he ejaculated, blinking at Dwayne, "'Young man, I figured you were some swift, and sure to make your mark on this river, but I reckon I missed your real caliber. So that's what it means to be a man. I guess I'd forgot. Well, I'm old, and even if my heart was in the right place, I never was built for big stunts. Do you know what it'll take to do all you promise, Jen?' "'I haven't any idea,' replied Dwayne gravely. "'You'll have to pull the wool over Cape Bland's eyes, and even if she falls in love with you, which should likely, that won't be easy. And she'd kill you in a minute, Buck, as she ever got wise. You ain't mistaken her none, are you?' "'Not me, Yooker. She's a woman. I'd fear her more than any man.' "'Well, you'll have to kill Bland and Chess Allaway and Rugg, and maybe some others, before you can ride off unto the hills with that girl.' "'Why? Can't we plan to be nice to Mrs. Bland, and then at some opportune time sneak off without any gunplay?' "'Don't see how on earth,' replied Yooker earnestly. When Bland's away he leaves all kinds of spies and scouts watching the valley trails. They've all got rifles. You couldn't get by them.' But when the boss is home there's a difference. Only, of course, him and Chess keep their eyes peeled. They both stay to home pretty much, except when they're playing Monte or poker over at Benson's. So I say the best bet is to pick out a good time in the afternoon, drift over careless lack with a couple of hausses, choke Mrs. Bland or knock her on the head, take Jenny with you, and make a rush to get out of the valley. If you had luck you might pull that stunt without throwing a gun. But I reckon the best-figuring would include dodging some lead and leaving at least Bland or Allaway dead behind you. I'm figuring, of course, that when they come home and find out you're visiting Kate frequent they'll just naturally look for results. Chess don't like you, for no reason except your swift on the draw, maybe swifter than him. That's the hell of this gunplay business. No one can ever tell who's the swifter of two gunmen till they meet. That fact holds a fascination, maybe you'll learn some day. Bland would treat you civil unless there was reason not to, and then I don't believe he'd invite himself to a meeting with you. He'd set Chess or Rug to put you out of the way. Still, Bland's no coward, and if you came cross him at a bad moment you'd have to be quicker and you was with Bossamer. All right, I'll meet what comes, said Dwayne quickly. The great point is to have horses ready and pick the right moment, then rush the trick through. That's the only chance for success, and you can't do it alone. I'll have to. I wouldn't ask you to help me. Leave you behind. Well, I'll take my chances, replied Euker gruffly. I'm going to help Jenny. You can gamble your last peso on that. There's only four men in this camp who would shoot me. Bland, in his right-hand pards, and that rabbit-faced Benson. If you happen to put out Bland and Chess, I'd stand a good show with the other two. Anyway, I'm old and tired. What's the difference if I do get plugged? I can risk as much as you, Buck, even if I am afraid of gunplay. You said correct. Horses ready, the right minute, then rush the trick. That much is settled. Now let's figure all the little details. They talked and planned, though in truth it was Euker who planned, Dwayne who listened and agreed. While awaiting the return of Bland and his lieutenants it would be well for Dwayne to grow friendly with the other outlaws, to sit in a few games of Mati, or show a willingness to spend a little money. The two schemers were to call upon Mrs. Bland every day. Euker to carry messages of cheer and warning to Jenny. Dwayne to blind the elder woman at any cost. These preliminaries decided upon. They proceeded to put them into action. No hard task was it to win the friendship of the most of these good-natured outlaws. They were used to men of a better order than theirs, coming to the hidden camps, and sooner or later sinking to their lower level. Besides, with them everything was easy come, easy go. That was why life itself went on so carelessly and usually ended so cheaply. They were men among them, however, that made Dwayne feel that terrible inexplicable wrath rise in his breast. He could not bear to be near them. He could not trust himself. He felt that any instant a word, a deed, something might call too deeply to that instinct he could no longer control. Jack Rabbit Benson was one of these men. Because of him and other outlaws of his ilk, Dwayne could scarcely ever forget the reality of things. This was a hidden valley, a robber's den, a rendezvous for murderers, a wild place stained red by deeds of wild men. And because of that there was always a charged atmosphere. The merriest, idlest, most careless moment might in the flash of an eye end in ruthless and tragic action. In an assemblage of desperate characters it could not be otherwise. The terrible thing that Dwayne sensed was this. The valley was beautiful, sunny, fragrant, a place to dream in. The mountain tops were always blue or gold-rimmed. The yellow river slid slowly and majestically by. The birds sang in the cotton woods. The horses grazed and pranced. Children played in women longed for love, freedom, happiness. The outlaws rode in and out, free with money and speech. They lived comfortably in their adobe homes, smoked, gambled, talked, laughed, wild away the idle hours. And all the time life there was wrong. And the simplest moment might be precipitated by that evil into the most awful of contrasts. Dwayne felt rather than saw a dark, brooding shadow over the valley. Then, without any solicitation or encouragement from Dwayne, the bland woman fell passionately in love with him. His conscience was never troubled about the beginning of that affair. She launched herself. It took no great perspicuity on his part to see that. And the thing which evidently held her in check was the newness, the strangeness, and for the moment the all-satisfying fact of his respect for her. Dwayne exerted himself to please, to amuse, to interest, to fascinate her, and always with deference. That was his strong point, and had it made his part easy so far. He believed he could carry the whole scheme through without involving himself any deeper. He was playing at a game of love, playing with life and deaths. Sometimes he trembled, not that he feared bland or alaway or any other man, but at the deeps of life he had come to see into. He was carried out of his old mood. Not once since this daring motive had stirred him had he been haunted by the phantom of Bane beside his bed. Rather had he been haunted by Jenny's sad face, her wistful smile, her eyes. He never was able to speak a word to her. What little communication he had with her was through Euker, who carried short messages. But he caught glimpses of her every time he went to the bland house. She contrived somehow to pass door or window to give him a look when chance afforded. And Dwayne discovered with surprise that these moments were more thrilling to him than any with Mrs. Bland. Often Dwayne knew Jenny was sitting just inside the window, and then he felt inspired in his talk, and it was all made for her. So at least she came to know him while as yet she was almost a stranger. Jenny had been instructed by Euker to listen, to understand that this was Dwayne's only chance to help keep her mind from constant worry, to gather the import of every word which had a double meaning. Euker said that the girl had begun to wither under the strain, to burn up with intense hope which had flamed within her. But all the difference Dwayne could see was a paler face and darker, more wonderful eyes. The eyes seemed to be in treating him to hurry. The time was flying, that soon it might be too late. Then there was another meaning in them, a light, a strange fire wholly inexplicable to Dwayne. It was only a flash gone in an instant. But he remembered it because he had never seen it in any other woman's eyes. And all through those waiting days he knew that Jenny's face, and especially the warm, fleeting glance she gave him, was responsible for a subtle and gradual change in him. This change he fancied was only that through remembrance of her he got rid of his pale, sickening ghosts. One day a careless Mexican threw a lighted cigarette up into the brush matting that served as a ceiling for Benson's den, and there was a fire which left little more than the adobe walls standing. The result was that while repairs were being made there was no gambling and drinking. Time hung very heavily on the hands of some two-score outlaws, days passed by without a brawl, and Bland's valley saw more successive hours of peace than ever before. Dwayne, however, found the hour as anything but empty. He spent more time at Mrs. Bland's. He walked miles on all the trails leading out of the valley. He had a care for the condition of his two horses. Upon his return from the latest of these traps Euker suggested that they go down to the river to the boat-landing. Ferry couldn't run a show this morning, said Euker. River getting low and sandbars making it hard for horses. There's a greaser freight-wagon stuck in the mud. I reckon we might hear news from the freighters. Bland's supposed to be in Mexico. Nearly all the outlaws and camp were assembled on the river bank, lowling in the shade of the cottonwoods. The heat was oppressive. Not an outlaw offered to help the freighters who were trying to dig a heavily freighted wagon out of that quicksand. Few outlaws would work for themselves, let alone for the despised Mexicans. Dwayne and Euker joined the lazy group and sat down with them. Euker lighted a black pipe, and drawing his hat over his eyes, lay back in comfort after the manner of the majority of the outlaws. But Dwayne was alert, observing, thoughtful. He never missed anything. It was his belief that any moment an idle word might be of benefit to him. Moreover, these rough men were always interesting. Bland's been chased across the river, said one. Nah, he's delivering cattle to that Cuban ship, replied another. Big deal on, hey. Some big. Reg says the boss had an order for fifteen thousand. Say, that order would take a year to fill. Nah, hardness and cahoots would blend. Between them they'll fill the orders bigger than that. Wonder what hardened was rustling in here for her. Dwayne could not possibly attend to all the conversation among the outlaws. He endeavored to get the drift of talk nearest to him. Good fuller's gone to cash, said a sandy-whiskered little outlaw. So Jim was telling me. Blood poison ain't it? That hole wasn't bad. But he took the fever. Rejoined a comrade. Dagger said the kid might pull through if he had nursing. Well, Kate Bland ain't nursing any shot-up boys these days. She hasn't got time. A laugh followed this sally, then came a penetrating silence. Some of the outlaws glanced good-naturedly at Dwayne. They bore him no ill will. Manifestly they were aware of Mrs. Bland's infatuation. Pate, pairs to me you said that before. Sure, well, it's happened before. This remark drew louder laughter and more significant glances at Dwayne. He did not choose to ignore them any longer. Boys, poke all the fun you like at me, but don't mention any lady's name again. My hand is nervous and itchy these days. He smiled as he spoke and his speak was drawled, but the good humor in it no wise weakened it. Then his latter remark was significant to a class of men who, from inclination and necessity, practiced at gun-drawing until they wore callous and sore places on their thumbs, and inculcated in the very deeps of their nervous organization, a habit that made even the simplest and most innocent motion of the hand and at or near the hip. There was something remarkable about a gunfighter's hand. It never seemed to be gloved, never to be injured, never out of sight or in an awkward position. There were grizzled outlaws in that group, some of whom had many notches on their gun handles, and they, with their comrades, accorded Dwayne's silence that carried conviction of the regard in which he was held. Dwayne could not recall any other instance when he had let fall a familiar speech to these men, and certainly he had never before hinted of his possibilities. He saw instantly that he could not have done better. Arful hot, ain't it? remarked Bill Black presently. Bill could not keep quiet for long. He was a typical Texas desperado, had never been anything else. He was stoop-shouldered and bow-legged for much riding. A wiry little man, all muscle, with a square head, a hard face partly black from scrubby beard and red from sun, and a bright, roving, cruel eye. His shirt was open at the neck, showing a grizzled breast. Is any guy in this here outfit sport enough to go swimming? He asked. My God, Bill, you ain't a going to wash! exclaimed a comrade. This raised a laugh in which Black joined. But no one seemed eager to join him in a bath. Latest outfit I ever rustled with, went on Bill discontentedly. Nothing to do. Say, if nobody wants to swim, maybe some of you'll gamble. He produced a dirty pack of cards, and waved them at the motionless crowd. Bill, you're too good at cars! replied a lanky outlaw. Nad Jasper, you say that powerful sweet, and you look sweet, or I might take it to heart. Replied Black with a sudden change of tone. Here it was again, that up-flashing passion. What Jasper saw fit to reply would mollify the outlaw, or it would not. There was an even balance. No offence, Bill, said Jasper placidly, without moving. Bill grunted and forgot Jasper. But he seemed restless and dissatisfied. Dwayne knew him to be an invetric gambler, and as Benson's place was out of running order, Black was like a fish on dry land. Well, if you all are afraid of the cards, what will you bet on? he asked and discussed. Bill, I'll play you a game of mumbly peg for two bits. Replied One Black eagerly accepted. Betting to him was a serious matter. The game obsessed him, not the stakes. He entered into the mumbly peg contest with a thoughtful mien and a courted brow. He won. Other comrades tried their luck with him and lost. Finally when Bill had exhausted their supply of two-bit pieces, or their desire for that particular game, he offered to bet on anything. See that turtle dove there? He said, pointing, I'll bet he'll scare it one stone or he won't. Five pesos he'll fly or he won't fly when someone chucks a stone. Who'll take me up? That appeared to be more than the gambling spirit of several outlaws could withstand. Take that. He's the money, said one. He was going to chuck the stone, asked another. Anybody? replied Bill. Well, I'll bet I can scare him with one stone, said the first outlaw. We're in on that. Jim defyre the Darnock. He chimed in the others. The money was put up, the stone thrown. The turtle dove took flight to the great joy of all the outlaws, except Bill. I'll bet you all he'll come back to that tree inside of five minutes, he offered imperturbably. Hereupon the outlaws did not show any laziness in their alacrity to cover Bill's money as it lay on the grass. Somebody had a watch and they all sat down, dividing attention between the timepiece and the tree. The minutes dragged by to the accompaniment of various jocular remarks about a fool and his money. When four and three-quarter minutes had passed, the turtle dove alighted on the cottonwood, then ensued an impressive silence while Bill calmly pocketed the fifty dollars. But it wasn't the same dove, exclaimed one outlaw excitedly. This one is smaller, dustier, not so purple. Bill eyed the speaker loftily. Well, you'll have to catch the other one to prove that. Sabe part? Now I bet any gent here the fifty I won that I can scare that dove with one stone. No one offered to take his wager. Well, then I bet any of you even money that you can't scare him with one stone. Not proof against this chance, the outlaws made up a purse, and no wise disconcerted by Bill's contemptuous illusions to their banding together. The stone was thrown, the dove did not fly. Thereafter, in regard to that bird, Bill was unable to coax or scorn his comrades into any kind of wager. He tried them with the multiplicity of offers, and in vain. Then he appeared at a loss for some unusual and seductive wager. Presently a little ragged Mexican boy came along the river trail, a particularly starved and poor-looking little fellow. Bill called to him and gave him a handful of silver coins. Speechless dazed he went his way hugging the money. I'll bet he drops some before he gets to the road. Declare, Bill. I'll bet he runs. Hurry, you four flush gamblers! Bill failed to interest any of his companions, and forthwith became sullen and silent. Strangely his good humor departed in spite of the fact that he had won considerable. Twain, watching the disgruntled outlaw, marveled at him, and wondered what was in his mind. These men were more variable than children, as unstable as water, as dangerous as dynamite. Bill, I'll bet you ten you can't spill whatever's in the bucket that peon's packing, said the outlaw, called Jim. Black's head came up with the action of a hawk about to swoop. Twain glanced from black to the road, where he saw a crippled peon carrying a tin bucket toward the river. This peon was a half-witted Indian who lived in a shack and did odd jobs for the Mexicans. Twain had met him often. Jim, I'll take you up! replied Black. Something, perhaps a harshness in his voice, caused Twain to whirl. He caught a leaping gleam in the outlaw's eye. Oh, Bill, that's too fur a shot, said Jasper, as Black rested an elbow on his knee and sited over the long, heavy colt. The distance to the peon was about fifty paces, too far for even the most expert shot to hitting moving objects as small as a bucket. Twain, marvelously keen in the alignment of sights, was positive that Black held too high. Another look at the hard face, now tense and dark with blood, confirmed Twain's suspicion that the outlaw was not aiming at the bucket at all. Twain leaped and struck the level gun out of his hand. Another outlaw picked it up. Black fell back astounded. Deprived of his weapon he did not seem the same man, or else he was calved by Twain's significant and formidable front. Cellonly he turned away without even asking for his gun. This is the LibriVox Recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This recording is by Mark Smith of Simpsonville, South Carolina. The Lone Star Ranger by Zane Gray Chapter 8 What a contrast, Twain thought the evening of that day presented to this state of his soul. The sunset lingered in golden glory over the distant Mexican mountains. Twilight came slowly. A faint breeze blew from the river cool and sweet. The late cooing of a dove and the tinkle of a cowbell were the only sounds. A serene and tranquil peace lay over the valley. Inside Twain's body there was strife. This third facing of a desperate man had thrown him off his balance. It had not been fatal, but it threatened so much. The better side of his nature seemed to urge him to die rather than to go on fighting or opposing ignorant unfortunate savage men. But the perversity of him was so great that it dwarfed reason, conscience. He could not resist it. He felt something dying in him. He suffered. Hope seemed far away. Despair had seized upon him and was driving him into a reckless mood when he thought of Jenny. He had forgotten her. He had forgotten that he had promised to save her. He had forgotten that he met to snuff out as many lives as might stand between her and freedom. The very remembrance sheared off his morbid introspection. She made a difference. How strange for him to realize that. He felt grateful to her. He had been forced into outlawry. She had been stolen from her people and carried into captivity. They had met in the river fastness. He to instill hope into her despairing life. She to be the means perhaps of keeping him from sinking to the level of her captors. He became conscious of a strong and beating desire to see her, talk with her. These thoughts had run through his mind while on his way to Mrs. Bland's house. He had let Euker go on ahead because he wanted more time to compose himself. Darkness set about set in when he reached his destination. There was no light in the house. Mrs. Bland was waiting for him on the porch. She embraced him and the sudden, violent, unfamiliar contact sent such a shock through him that he all but forgot the deep game he was playing. She, however, in her agitation did not notice his shrinking. From her embrace and the tender, incoherent words that flowed with it, he gathered that Euker had acquainted her of his action with Black. He might have killed you! She whispered more clearly. And if Dwayne had ever heard love in a voice, he heard it then. It softened him. After all, she was a woman, weak, faded through her nature, unfortunate in her experience of life, doomed to unhappiness and tragedy. He met her advance so far that he returned the embrace and kissed her. Emotions such as she showed would have made any woman sweet, and she had a certain charm. It was easy, even pleasant, to kiss her. But Dwayne resolved that whatever her abandonment might become he would not go further than the lies she made him act. You love me? She whispered. Yes, yes. He burst out, eager to get it over, and even as he spoke he caught the pale gleam of Jenny's face through the window. He felt a shame. He was glad she could not see. Did she remember that she had promised not to misunderstand any action of his? What did she think of him, seeing him out there in the dusk with this bold woman in his arms? Somehow that dim sight of Jenny's pale face, the big dark eyes, thrilled him, inspired him to his hard task of the present. Listen, dear. He said to the woman, and he meant his words for the girl. I'm going to take you away from this outlaw den if I have to kill Bland, Allaway, Rug, anybody who stands in my path. You were dragged here. You are good. I know it. There's happiness for you somewhere, a home among good people who care for you. Just wait till— His voice trailed off and failed from excess of emotion. Kate Bland closed her eyes and leaned her head on his breast. Dwayne felt her heart beat against his, and conscience smote him a keen blow, if she loved him so much. But memory and understanding of her character hardened him again, and he gave her such commiseration as was due her sex, and no more. Boy, that's good of you, she whispered. But it's too late. I'm done for. I can't leave Bland. All I ask is that you love me a little and stop your gun throwing. The moon had risen over the eastern bulge of Dark Mountain, and now the valley was flooded with mellow light and shadows of cottonwoods wavered against the silver. Suddenly the clip-clop, clip-clop of hoofs caused Dwayne to raise his head and listen. Horses were coming down the road from the head of the valley. The hour was unusual for riders to come in. Presently the narrow, moonlit lane was crossed at its far end by black moving objects. Two horses, Dwayne discerned. It's Bland! whispered the woman grasping Dwayne with shaking hands. You must run. No, he'd see you. That'd be worse. It's Bland. I know his horse's trot. But you said he wouldn't mind my calling here, protested Dwayne. You curse with me, it'll be all right. Maybe so. She replied with visible effort at self-control. Manifestly she had a great fear of Bland. If I could only think. Then she dragged Dwayne to the door, pushed him in. Yooker, come out with me. Dwayne, you stay with the girl. I'll tell Bland you're in love with her. Jen, if you give us away I'll wring your neck. The swift action and fierce whisper told Dwayne that Mrs. Bland was herself again. Dwayne stepped close to Jenny, who stood near the window. Neither spoke, but her hands were outstretched to meet his own. They were small, trembling hands, cold as ice. He held them close, trying to convey what he felt, that he would protect her. She leaned against him, and they looked out of the window. Dwayne felt calm and sure of himself. His most pronounced feeling besides that for the frightened girl was a curiosity as to how Mrs. Bland would rise to the occasion. He saw the riders dismount down the lane and weirdly come forward. A boy led away the horses. Yooker, the old fox, was talking loud and with remarkable ease considering what he claimed was his natural cowardice. That was way back in the sixties, about the time of the war, he was saying. Wrestling cattle wasn't nothing then to what it is now. In times as rougher these days, this gun-throwing has come to be a disease. Men have an itch for the draw, same as they used to have for poker. The only real gambler outside of greasers we ever had here was Bill. And I presume Bill is burning now. The approaching outlaws, hearing voices, halted a rod or so from the porch. Then Mrs. Bland uttered an exclamation, ostensibly meant to express surprise, and hurried out to meet them. She greeted her husband warmly and gave welcome to the other man. Dwayne could not see well enough in the shadow to recognize Blaine's companion, but he believed it was Allaway. Dog tired, we are, and starved, said Bland heavily. Who's here with you? That's Yooker on the porch. Dwayne is inside at the window with Jen, replied Mrs. Bland. Dwayne, he exclaimed. Then he whispered low, something Dwayne could not catch. Why, I asked him to come, said the chief's wife. She spoke easily and naturally, and made no change in tone. Jen has been ailing. She gets thinner and whiter every day. Dwayne came here one day with Yooker, saw Jen, and went loony over pretty face, same as all you men, so I let him come. Blaine cursed low and deep under his breath. The other man made a violent action of some kind, and apparently was quieted by a restraining hand. Kate, you let Dwayne make love to Jenny? queried Blaine incredulously. Yes, I did, replied the wife stubbornly. Why not? Jen's in love with him. If he takes her away and marries her, she can be a decent woman. Blaine kept silent a moment. Then his laugh peeled out loud and harsh. Jess, did you get that? Well, by God, what do you think of my wife? She's lyin', or she's crazy, replied Allaway, and his voice carried an unpleasant ring. Mrs. Blaine promptly and indignantly told her husband's lieutenant to keep his mouth shut. Ha-ha-ha-ha! Rolled out Blaine's laugh. Then he led the way to the porch, his spurs clinking, the weapons he was carrying rattling, and he flopped down on a bench. How are ya, boss? asked Yooker. Hello, old man, I'm well, but all in. Allaway slowly walked on to the porch and leaned against the rail. He answered Yooker's greeting with a nod. Then he stood there, a dark, silent figure. Mrs. Blaine's full voice and eager questioning had a tendency to ease the situation. Blaine replied briefly to her, reporting a remarkably successful trip. Dwayne thought it was time to show himself. He had a feeling that Blaine and Allaway would let him go for the moment. They were plainly nonplussed, and Allaway seemed sullen, brooding. Jenny, whispered Dwayne, that was clever of Mrs. Blaine. We'll keep up the deception. Any day now, be ready. She pressed close to him, and a barely audible, hooey, came breathing into his ear. Good night, Jenny, he said, aloud, hope you feel better tomorrow. Then he stepped out into the moonlight and spoke. Blaine returned the greeting, and though he was not amiable, he did not show resentment. Matt Jasper, as I wrote in, said Blaine presently, he told me you made Bill Blackmad, and there's liable to be a fight. What did you go off the handle about? Dwayne explained the incident. I'm sorry I happened to be there, he went on. It wasn't my business. Scurvy trick that had been. Mother Blaine, you did right. All the same, Dwayne, I want you to stop quarreling with my men. If you were one of us, that'd be different. I can't keep my men from fighting. But I'm not called on to let an outsider hang around my camp and plug my wrestlers. I guess I'll have to be hitting the trail for somewhere, said Dwayne. Why not join my band? You've got a bad start already, Dwayne, and if I know this border, you'll never be a respectable citizen again. You're a born killer. I know every bad man on this frontier. More than one of them has told me that something exploded in their brain, and when scents came back there lay another dead man. It's not so with me. I've done a little shooting, too, but I never wanted to kill another man just to rid myself of the last one. My dead man don't sit on my chest at night. That's the gunfighter's trouble. He's crazy. He has to kill a new man. He's driven to it to forget the last one. But I'm no gunfighter, protested Dwayne. Circumstances made me no doubt. Interrupted bland with a laugh. Circumstances made me a rustler. You don't know yourself. You're young. You've got a temper. Your father was one of the most dangerous men Texas ever had. I don't see any other career for you. Instead of going it alone, a lone wolf, as the Texans say, why not make friends with other outlaws? You'll live longer. Euker squirmed in his seat. Boss, I've been given to boy exactly that same line of talk. That's why I took him in to bunk with me. If he makes pards among us there won't be any more trouble. And he'd be a grand-feller for the gang. I've seen Wild Bill Hickock throw a gun, and Billy the Kid, and Harden, and Chessier, all the fastest men on the border. And with apologies to present company, I'm here to say Dwayne has them all skinned. His draw is different. You can't see how he does it. Euker's admiring praise served to create an effective little silence. Allaway shifted uneasily on his feet, his spurs jangling faintly, and did not lift his head. Bland seemed thoughtful. Oh, that's about the only qualification I have to make me eligible for your band, said Dwayne easily. It's good enough, replied Bland shortly. Well, you consider the idea. I'll think it over. Good night. He left the group, followed by Euker. When they reached the end of the lane, and before they had exchanged a word, Bland called Euker back. Dwayne proceeded slowly along the moonlit road to the cabin, and sat down under the cottonwoods to wait for Euker. The night was intense and quiet, a low hum of insects giving the effect of a congestion of life. The beauty of the soaring moon, the ebony cannons of shadow under the mountain, the melancholy serenity of the perfect night. May Dwayne shudder in the realization of how far aloof he now was from enjoyment of these things. Never again so long as he lived could he be natural. His mind was clouded. His eye and ear henceforth must register impressions of nature, but the joy of them had fled. Still, as he sat there with a foreboding of more and darker work ahead of him, there was yet a strange sweetness left to him, and it lay in thought of Jenny. The pressure of her cold little hands lingered in his. He did not think of her as a woman, and he did not analyze his feelings. He just had vague, dreamy thoughts and imaginations that were interspersed in the constant stern revolving of plans to save her. A shuffling step roused him. Euker's dark figure came crossing the moonlit grass under the cottonwoods. The moment the outlaw reached him, Dwayne saw that he was laboring under great excitement. It scarcely affected Dwayne. He seemed to be acquiring patience, calmness, strength. Blaine kept you pretty long, he said. Wait till I get my breath, replied Euker. He sat silent a little while, fanning himself with a sombrero, though the night was cool, and then he went into the cabin to return presently with a lighted pipe. Fire night, he said, and his tone further acquainted Dwayne with Euker's quaint humor. Fine night for love affairs, by gum. I'd noticed that, rejoined Dwayne dryly. Well, I'm a son of a gun if I didn't stand in watch Blaine choke his wife till her tongue stuck out, and she got black in the face. No, ejaculated Dwayne. Hope to die if I didn't. Buck listened to this here yarn. When I got back to the porch I seen Blaine was waking up. He'd been too fagged out to figure much. Allaway and Kate had gone in the house where they lit up the lamps. I heard Kate's high voice, but Allaway never chirped. He's not the talking kind, and he's damn dangerous when he's that way. Blaine asked me some questions right from the shoulder. I was ready for them, and I swore the moon was green cheese. He was satisfied. Blaine always trusted me, and liked me too, I reckon. I hated to lie black that way, but he's a hard man with bad intentions toward Jenny, and I'd double-cross him any day. Then he went into the house. Jenny had gone to her little room, and Blaine called her to come out. She said she was undressing, and he ordered her to put her clothes back on. Then, Buck, his next move was some surprising. He deliberately thronged a gun on Kate. Yes, sir, he pointed his big blue colt right at her, and he says, I have a mind to blow out your brains. Go ahead, says Kate cool as could be. You lied to me, he roars. Kate laughed in his face. Blaine slammed the gun down and made a grab for her. She fought him, but wasn't a match for him, and he got her by the throat. He joked her till I thought she was strangled. Allaway made him stop. She flopped down on the bed and gasped for a while. When she come to, them hard-shelled cusses went after her, trying to make her give herself away. I think Blaine was jealous. He suspected she got thick with you and was fooling him. I reckon that's a sore feeling for a man to have. To guess pretty nice, but not to be sure. Blaine gave it up after a while, and then he cussed and raved at her. One saying of his is worth pinning in your sombrero. It ain't nothing to kill a man. I don't need much for that. But I want to know, you hussy. Then he went in and dragged poor Jen out. She'd had time to dress. He was so mad he hurt her sore leg. You know Jen got that injury of fighting off one of them devils in the dark. And when I seen Blaine twister, hurt her, I had a queer-hot feeling deep down in me, and for the only time in my life I wished I was a gunfighter. Well, Jen amazed me. She was whiter than a sheet, and her eyes were big and stary. But she had nerve. First time I ever seen her show any. Jenny, he said. My wife said Dwayne came here to see you. I believe she's lying. I think she's been carrying on with him, and I want to know. If she's been, and you tell me the truth, I'll let you go. I'll send you out to Huntsville, where you can communicate with your friends. I'll give you money. That must have been hell of a minute for Kate Blaine. If ever I seen death in a man's eye, I've seen it in Blaine's. He loves her. That's the strange part of it. Has Dwayne been coming here to see my wife? Blaine asked, fierce like. No, said Jenny. He's been after you? Yes. He has fallen in love with you? Kate said that. Ah, I'm not. I don't know. He hasn't told me. But you're in love with him? Yes, she said. And Buck, if you only could have seen her. She thronged up her head, and her eyes were full of fire. Blaine seemed dazed at sight of her. And Allaway, why that little skunk of an outlaw, cried right out. He was hit plumb center. He's in love with Jen. And the look of her then was enough to make anyfeller quit. He just slunk out of the room. I told you, maybe, that he'd been trying to get Blaine to marry Jen to him. So even a tough like Allaway can love a woman. Blaine stamped up and down the room. He sure was dying hard. Jenny, he said, once more turning to her. You swear in fear of your life that you're telling truth? Kate's not in love with Dwayne? She's let him come to see you? There's been nothing between them? No, I swear, answered Jenny. And Blaine sat down like a man licked. Go to bed, you white face. Blaine choked on some word or other. A bad one, I reckon. And he positively shook in his chair. Jenny went then, and Kate began to have hysterics. And your uncle Euker ducked his nut out of the door and come home. Dwayne did not have a word to say at the end of Euker's long harangue. He experienced relief. As a matter of fact, he had expected a good deal worse. He thrilled at the thought of Jenny perjuring himself to save that abandoned woman. What mysteries these feminine creatures were! Wow! There's where our little deal stands now, resumed Euker meditatively. You know, Buck, as well as me, that if you'd been some feller who hadn't shown he was a wander with a gun, you'd now be full of lead. If you'd happened to kill Blaine and Allaway, I reckon you'd be as safe on this here border as you would in Santone, such as gunfame in this land of the draw.