by Zane Grey
I had felt the rush of excitement, the old exultation at the prospect of danger, but this time there was something lacking in them. The wildness of the boy that had persisted in me was gone.
“Yes, Steele has opened it and I’m ready to boost the game along. Wait till I see him! But Morton, you say someone you don’t know played a hand in here and killed March.”
“I sure do. It wasn’t any of our men. Zimmer was outside. The others were at different places.”
“The fact is, then, Steele has more friends than we know, perhaps more than he knows himself.”
“Right. An’ it’s got the gang in the air. There’ll be hell tonight.”
“Steele hardly expects to keep Snecker in jail, does he?”
“I can’t say. Probably not. I wish Steele had put both Blome and Snecker out of the way. We’d have less to fight.”
“Maybe. I’m for the elimination method myself. But Steele doesn’t follow out the gun method. He will use one only when he’s driven. It’s hard to make him draw. You know, after all, these desperate men aren’t afraid of guns or fights. Yet they are afraid of Steele. Perhaps it’s his nerve, the way he faces them, the things he says, the fact that he has mysterious allies.”
“Russ, we’re all with him, an’ I’ll gamble that the honest citizens of Linrock will flock to him in another day. I can see signs of that. There were twenty or more men on Hoden’s list, but Steele didn’t want so many.”
“We don’t need any more. Morton, can you give me any idea where Steele is?”
“Not the slightest.”
“All right. I’ll hunt for him. If you see him tell him to hole up, and then you come after me. Tell him I’ve got our men spotted.”
“Russ, if you Ranger fellows ain’t wonders!” exclaimed Morton, with shining eyes.
Steele did not show himself in town again that day. Here his cunning was manifest. By four o’clock that afternoon Blome was drunk and he and his rustlers went roaring up and down the street. There was some shooting, but I did not see or hear that any one got hurt. The lawless element, both native to Linrock and the visitors, followed in Blome’s tracks from saloon to saloon. How often had I seen this sort of procession, though not on so large a scale, in many towns of wild Texas!
The two great and dangerous things in Linrock at the hour were whisky and guns. Under such conditions the rustlers were capable of any mad act of folly.
Morton and his men sent word flying around town that a fight was imminent and all citizens should be prepared to defend their homes against possible violence. But despite his warning I saw many respectable citizens abroad whose quiet, unobtrusive manner and watchful eyes and hard faces told me that when trouble began they wanted to be there. Verily Ranger Steele had built his house of service upon a rock. It did not seem too much to say that the next few days, perhaps hours, would see a great change in the character and a proportionate decrease in number of the inhabitants of this corner of Pecos County.
Morton and I were in the crowd that watched Blome, Snecker, and a dozen other rustlers march down to Steele’s jail. They had crowbars and they had cans of giant powder, which they had appropriated from a hardware store. If Steele had a jailer he was not in evidence. The door was wrenched off and Bo Snecker, evidently not wholly recovered, brought forth to his cheering comrades. Then some of the rustlers began to urge back the pressing circle, and the word given out acted as a spur to haste. The jail was to be blown up.
The crowd split and some men ran one way, some another. Morton and I were among those who hurried over the vacant ground to a little ridge that marked the edge of the open country. From this vantage point we heard several rustlers yell in warning, then they fled for their lives.
It developed that they might have spared themselves such headlong flight. The explosion appeared to be long in coming. At length we saw the lifting of the roof in a cloud of red dust, and then heard an exceedingly heavy but low detonation. When the pall of dust drifted away all that was left of Steele’s jail was a part of the stone walls. The building that stood nearest, being constructed of adobe, had been badly damaged.
However, this wreck of the jail did not seem to satisfy Blome and his followers, for amid wild yells and huzzahs they set to work with crowbars and soon laid low every stone. Then with young Snecker in the fore they set off up town; and if this was not a gang in fit mood for any evil or any ridiculous celebration I greatly missed my guess.
It was a remarkable fact, however, and one that convinced me of deviltry afoot, that the crowd broke up, dispersed, and actually disappeared off the streets of Linrock. The impression given was that they were satisfied. But this impression did not remain with me. Morton was scarcely deceived either. I told him that I would almost certainly see Steele early in the evening and that we would be out of harm’s way. He told me that we could trust him and his men to keep sharp watch on the night doings of Blome’s gang. Then we parted.
It was almost dark. By the time I had gotten something to eat and drink at the Hope So, the hour for my meeting with Sally was about due. On the way out I did not pass a lighted house until I got to the end of the street; and then strange to say, that one was Steele’s. I walked down past the place, and though I was positive he would not be there I whistled low. I halted and waited. He had two lights lit, one in the kitchen, and one in the big room. The blinds were drawn. I saw a long, dark shadow cross one window and then, a little later, cross the other. This would have deceived me had I not remembered Steele’s device for casting the shadow. He had expected to have his house attacked at night, presumably while he was at home; but he had felt that it was not necessary for him to stay there to make sure. Lawless men of this class were sometimes exceedingly simple and gullible.
Then I bent my steps across the open, avoiding road and path, to the foot of the hill upon which Sampson’s house stood. It was dark enough under the trees. I could hardly find my way to the secluded nook and bench where I had been directed to come. I wondered if Sally would be able to find it. Trust that girl! She might have a few qualms and come shaking a little, but she would be there on the minute.
I had hardly seated myself to wait when my keen ears detected something, then slight rustlings, then soft steps, and a dark form emerged from the blackness into the little starlit glade. Sally came swiftly towards me and right into my arms. That was sure a sweet moment. Through the excitement and dark boding thoughts of the day, I had forgotten that she would do just this thing. And now I anticipated tears, clingings, fears. But I was agreeably surprised.
“Russ, are you all right?” she whispered.
“Just at this moment I am,” I replied.
Sally gave me another little hug, and then, disengaging herself from my arms, she sat down beside me.
“I can only stay a minute. Oh, it’s safe enough. But I told Diane I was to meet you and she’s waiting to hear if Steele is—is—”
“Steele’s safe so far,” I interrupted.
“There were men coming and going all day. Uncle Roger never appeared at meals. He didn’t eat, Diane said. George tramped up and down, smoking, biting his nails, listening for these messengers. When they’d leave he’d go in for another drink. We heard him roar someone had been shot and we feared it might be Steele.”
“No,” I replied, steadily.
“Did Steele shoot anybody?”
“No. A rustler named March tried to draw on Steele, and someone in the crowd killed March.”
“Someone? Russ, was it you?”
“It sure wasn’t. I didn’t happen to be there.”
“Ah! Then Steele has other men like you around him. I might have guessed that.”
“Sally, Steele makes men his friends. It’s because he’s on the side of justice.”
“Diane will be glad to hear that. She doesn’t think only of Steele’s life. I believe she has a secret pride in his work. And I’ve an idea what she fears most is some kind of a clash between Steele and her father.”
&
nbsp; “I shouldn’t wonder. Sally, what does Diane know about her father?”
“Oh, she’s in the dark. She got hold of papers that made her ask him questions. And his answers made her suspicious. She realizes he’s not what he has pretended to be all these years. But she never dreams her father is a rustler chief. When she finds that out—” Sally broke off and I finished the sentence in thought.
“Listen, Sally,” I said, suddenly. “I’ve an idea that Steele’s house will be attacked by the gang tonight, and destroyed, same as the jail was this afternoon. These rustlers are crazy. They’ll expect to kill him while he’s there. But he won’t be there. If you and Diane hear shooting and yelling tonight don’t be frightened. Steele and I will be safe.”
“Oh, I hope so. Russ, I must hurry back. But, first, can’t you arrange a meeting between Diane and Steele? It’s her wish. She begged me to. She must see him.”
“I’ll try,” I promised, knowing that promise would be hard to keep.
“We could ride out from the ranch somewhere. You remember we used to rest on the high ridge where there was a shady place—such a beautiful outlook? It was there I—I—”
“My dear, you needn’t bring up painful memories. I remember where.”
Sally laughed softly. She could laugh in the face of the gloomiest prospects. “Well, tomorrow morning, or the next, or any morning soon, you tie your red scarf on the dead branch of that high mesquite. I’ll look every morning with the glass. If I see the scarf, Diane and I will ride out.”
“That’s fine. Sally, you have ideas in your pretty little head. And once I thought it held nothing but—” She put a hand on my mouth. “I must go now,” she said and rose. She stood close to me and put her arms around my neck. “One thing more, Russ. It—it was dif—difficult telling Diane we—we were engaged. I lied to Uncle. But what else could I have told Diane? I—I—Oh—was it—” She faltered.
“Sally, you lied to Sampson to save me. But you must have accepted me before you could have told Diane the truth.”
“Oh, Russ, I had—in my heart! But it has been some time since you asked me—and—and—”
“You imagined my offer might have been withdrawn. Well, it stands.”
She slipped closer to me then, with that soft sinuousness of a woman, and I believed she might have kissed me had I not held back, toying with my happiness.
“Sally, do you love me?”
“Ever so much. Since the very first.”
“I’m a marshal, a Ranger like Steele, a hunter of criminals. It’s a hard life. There’s spilling of blood. And any time I—I might—All the same, Sally—will you be my wife?”
“Oh, Russ! Yes. But let me tell you when your duty’s done here that I will have a word to say about your future. It’ll be news to you to learn I’m an orphan. And I’m not a poor one. I own a plantation in Louisiana. I’ll make a planter out of you. There!”
“Sally! You’re rich?” I exclaimed.
“I’m afraid I am. But nobody can ever say you married me for my money.”
“Well, no, not if you tell of my abject courtship when I thought you a poor relation on a visit. My God! Sally, if I only could see this Ranger job through safely and to success!”
“You will,” she said softly.
Then I took a ring from my little finger and slipped it on hers. “That was my sister’s. She’s dead now. No other girl ever wore it. Let it be your engagement ring. Sally, I pray I may somehow get through this awful Ranger deal to make you happy, to become worthy of you!”
“Russ, I fear only one thing,” she whispered.
“And what’s that?”
“There will be fighting. And you—oh, I saw into your eyes the other night when you stood with your hands up. You would kill anybody, Russ. It’s awful! But don’t think me a baby. I can conceive what your work is, what a man you must be. I can love you and stick to you, too. But if you killed a blood relative of mine I would have to give you up. I’m a Southerner, Russ, and blood is thick. I scorn my uncle and I hate my cousin George. And I love you. But don’t you kill one of my family, I—Oh, I beg of you go as far as you dare to avoid that!”
I could find no voice to answer her, and for a long moment we were locked in an embrace, breast to breast and lips to lips, an embrace of sweet pain.
Then she broke away, called a low, hurried good-by, and stole like a shadow into the darkness.
An hour later I lay in the open starlight among the stones and brush, out where Steele and I always met. He lay there with me, but while I looked up at the stars he had his face covered with his hands. For I had given him my proofs of the guilt of Diane Sampson’s father.
Steele had made one comment: “I wish to God I’d sent for some fool who’d have bungled the job!”
This was a compliment to me, but it showed what a sad pass Steele had come to. My regret was that I had no sympathy to offer him. I failed him there. I had trouble of my own. The feel of Sally’s clinging arms around my neck, the warm, sweet touch of her lips remained on mine. What Steele was enduring I did not know, but I felt that it was agony.
Meanwhile time passed. The blue, velvety sky darkened as the stars grew brighter. The wind grew stronger and colder. I heard sand blowing against the stones like the rustle of silk. Otherwise it was a singularly quiet night. I wondered where the coyotes were and longed for their chorus. By and by a prairie wolf sent in his lonely lament from the distant ridges. That mourn was worse than the silence. It made the cold shudders creep up and down my back. It was just the cry that seemed to be the one to express my own trouble. No one hearing that long-drawn, quivering wail could ever disassociate it from tragedy. By and by it ceased, and then I wished it would come again. Steele lay like the stone beside him. Was he ever going to speak? Among the vagaries of my mood was a petulant desire to have him sympathize with me.
I had just looked at my watch, making out in the starlight that the hour was eleven, when the report of a gun broke the silence.
I jumped up to peer over the stone. Steele lumbered up beside me, and I heard him draw his breath hard.
CHAPTER 11
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 tomorrow, eh, old man?” I queried.<
br />
“Tomorrow? 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.