The Lone Star Ranger: A Romance of the Border by Zane Grey (kiss me liar novel english .txt) đź“•
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- Author: Zane Grey
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Aiken's voice failed.
A lightning flash seemed to clear Duane's blurred sight. He saw a pale, sad face and violet eyes fixed in gloom and horror upon his. No terrible moment in Duane's life ever equaled this one of silence—of suspense.
“It's ain't him!” cried the child.
Then Sibert was flinging the noose off Duane's neck and unwinding the bonds round his arms. The spellbound crowd awoke to hoarse exclamations.
“See there, my locoed gents, how easy you'd hang the wrong man,” burst out the cowboy, as he made the rope-end hiss. “You-all are a lot of wise rangers. Haw! haw!”
He freed Duane and thrust the bone-handled gun back in Duane's holster.
“You Abe, there. Reckon you pulled a stunt! But don't try the like again. And, men, I'll gamble there's a hell of a lot of bad work Buck Duane's named for—which all he never done. Clear away there. Where's his hoss? Duane, the road's open out of Shirley.”
Sibert swept the gaping watchers aside and pressed Duane toward the horse, which another cowboy held. Mechanically Duane mounted, felt a lift as he went up. Then the cowboy's hard face softened in a smile.
“I reckon it ain't uncivil of me to say—hit that road quick!” he said, frankly.
He led the horse out of the crowd. Aiken joined him, and between them they escorted Duane across the plaza. The crowd appeared irresistibly drawn to follow.
Aiken paused with his big hand on Duane's knee. In it, unconsciously probably, he still held the gun.
“Duane, a word with you,” he said. “I believe you're not so black as you've been painted. I wish there was time to say more. Tell me this, anyway. Do you know the Ranger Captain MacNelly?”
“I do not,” replied Duane, in surprise.
“I met him only a week ago over in Fairfield,” went on Aiken, hurriedly. “He declared you never killed my wife. I didn't believe him—argued with him. We almost had hard words over it. Now—I'm sorry. The last thing he said was: 'If you ever see Duane don't kill him. Send him into my camp after dark!' He meant something strange. What—I can't say. But he was right, and I was wrong. If Lucy had batted an eye I'd have killed you. Still, I wouldn't advise you to hunt up MacNelly's camp. He's clever. Maybe he believes there's no treachery in his new ideas of ranger tactics. I tell you for all it's worth. Good-by. May God help you further as he did this day!”
Duane said good-by and touched the horse with his spurs.
“So long, Buck!” called Sibert, with that frank smile breaking warm over his brown face; and he held his sombrero high.
CHAPTER XIV
When Duane reached the crossing of the roads the name Fairfield on the sign-post seemed to be the thing that tipped the oscillating balance of decision in favor of that direction.
He answered here to unfathomable impulse. If he had been driven to hunt up Jeff Aiken, now he was called to find this unknown ranger captain. In Duane's state of mind clear reasoning, common sense, or keenness were out of the question. He went because he felt he was compelled.
Dusk had fallen when he rode into a town which inquiry discovered to be Fairfield. Captain MacNelly's camp was stationed just out of the village limits on the other side.
No one except the boy Duane questioned appeared to notice his arrival. Like Shirley, the town of Fairfield was large and prosperous, compared to the innumerable hamlets dotting the vast extent of southwestern Texas. As Duane rode through, being careful to get off the main street, he heard the tolling of a church-bell that was a melancholy reminder of his old home.
There did not appear to be any camp on the outskirts of the town. But as Duane sat his horse, peering around and undecided what further move to make, he caught the glint of flickering lights through the darkness. Heading toward them, he rode perhaps a quarter of a mile to come upon a grove of mesquite. The brightness of several fires made the surrounding darkness all the blacker. Duane saw the moving forms of men and heard horses. He advanced naturally, expecting any moment to be halted.
“Who goes there?” came the sharp call out of the gloom.
Duane pulled his horse. The gloom was impenetrable.
“One man—alone,” replied Duane.
“A stranger?”
“Yes.”
“What do you want?”
“I'm trying to find the ranger camp.”
“You've struck it. What's your errand?”
“I want to see Captain MacNelly.”
“Get down and advance. Slow. Don't move your hands. It's dark, but I can see.”
Duane dismounted, and, leading his horse, slowly advanced a few paces. He saw a dully bright object—a gun—before he discovered the man who held it. A few more steps showed a dark figure blocking the trail. Here Duane halted.
“Come closer, stranger. Let's have a look at you,” the guard ordered, curtly.
Duane advanced again until he stood before the man. Here the rays of light from the fires flickered upon Duane's face.
“Reckon you're a stranger, all right. What's your name and your business with the Captain?”
Duane hesitated, pondering what best to say.
“Tell Captain MacNelly I'm the man he's been asking to ride into his camp—after dark,” finally said Duane.
The ranger bent forward to peer hard at this night visitor. His manner had been alert, and now it became tense.
“Come here, one of you men, quick,” he called, without turning in the least toward the camp-fire.
“Hello! What's up, Pickens?” came the swift reply. It was followed by a rapid thud of boots on soft ground. A dark form crossed the gleams from the fire-light. Then a ranger loomed up to reach the side of the guard. Duane heard whispering, the purport of which he could not catch. The second ranger swore under his breath. Then he turned away and started back.
“Here, ranger, before you go, understand this. My visit is peaceful—friendly if you'll let it be. Mind, I was asked to come here—after dark.”
Duane's clear, penetrating voice carried far. The listening rangers at the camp-fire heard what he said.
“Ho, Pickens! Tell that fellow to wait,” replied an authoritative voice.
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