The Lone Star Ranger: A Romance of the Border by Zane Grey (kiss me liar novel english .txt) 📕

it was hard to keep Uncle Jim off the subject of guns, outlaws, fights. He could not seem to divine how mention of these things hurt Duane. Uncle Jim was childish now, and he had a great pride in his nephew. He wanted to hear of all of Duane's exile. And if there was one thing more than another that pleased him it was to talk about the bullets which Duane carried in his body.

“Five bullets, ain't it?” he asked, for the hundredth time.

“Five in that last scrap! By gum! And you had six before?”

“Yes, uncle,” replied Duane.

“Five and six. That makes eleven. By gum! A man's a man, to carry all that lead. But, Buck, you could carry more. There's that nigger Edwards, right here in Wellston. He's got a ton of bullets in him. Doesn't seem to mind them none. And there's Cole Miller. I've seen him. Been a bad man in his day. They say he packs twenty-three bullets. But he's bigger than you—got more flesh.... Funny, wasn't it, Buck, about the doctor only bein' able to cut one bullet out of you—that one in your breastbone? It was a forty-one caliber, an unusual cartridge. I saw it, and I wanted it, but Miss Longstreth wouldn't part with it. Buck, there was a bullet left in one of Poggin's guns, and that bullet was the same kind as the one cut out of you. By gum! Boy, it'd have killed you if it'd stayed there.”

“It would indeed, uncle,” replied Duane, and the old, haunting, somber mood returned.

But Duane was not often at the mercy of childish old hero-worshiping Uncle Jim. Miss Longstreth was the only person who seemed to divine Duane's gloomy mood, and when she was with him she warded off all suggestion.

One afternoon, while she was there at the west window, a message came for him. They read it together.

You have saved the ranger service to the Lone Star State

MACNELLEY.

Ray knelt beside him at the window, and he believed she meant to speak then of the thing they had shunned. Her face was still white, but sweeter now, warm with rich life beneath the marble; and her dark eyes were still intent, still haunted by shadows, but no longer tragic.

“I'm glad for MacNelly's sake as well as the state's,” said Duane.

She made no reply to that and seemed to be thinking deeply. Duane shrank a little.

“The pain—Is it any worse to-day?” she asked, instantly.

“No; it's the same. It will always be the same. I'm full of lead, you know. But I don't mind a little pain.”

“Then—it's the old mood—the fear?” she whispered. “Tell me.”

“Yes. It haunts me. I'll be well soon—able to go out. Then that—that hell will come back!”

“No, no!” she said, with emotion.

“Some drunken cowboy, some fool with a gun, will hunt me out in every town, wherever I go,” he went on, miserably. “Buck Duane! To kill Buck Duane!”

“Hush! Don't speak so. Listen. You remember that day in Val Verde, when I came to you—plead with you not to meet Poggin? Oh, that was a terrible hour for me. But it showed me the truth. I saw the struggle between your passion to kill and your love for me. I could have saved you then had I known what I know now. Now I understand that—that thing which haunts you. But you'll never have to draw again. You'll never have to kill another man, thank God!”

Like a drowning man he would have grasped at straws, but he could not voice his passionate query.

She put tender arms round his neck. “Because you'll have me with you always,” she replied. “Because always I shall be between you and that—that terrible thing.”

It seemed with the spoken thought absolute assurance of her power came to her. Duane realized instantly that he was in the arms of a stronger woman that she who had plead with him that fatal day.

“We'll—we'll be married and leave Texas,” she said, softly, with the red blood rising rich and dark in her cheeks.

“Ray!”

“Yes we will, though you're laggard in asking me, sir.”

“But, dear—suppose,” he replied, huskily, “suppose there might be—be children—a boy. A boy with his father's blood!”

“I pray God there will be. I do not fear what you fear. But even so—he'll be half my blood.”

Duane felt the storm rise and break in him. And his terror was that of joy quelling fear. The shining glory of love in this woman's eyes made him weak as a child. How could she love him—how could she so bravely face a future with him? Yet she held him in her arms, twining her hands round his neck, and pressing close to him. Her faith and love and beauty—these she meant to throw between him and all that terrible past. They were her power, and she meant to use them all. He dared not think of accepting her sacrifice.

“But Ray—you dear, noble girl—I'm poor. I have nothing. And I'm a cripple.”

“Oh, you'll be well some day,” she replied. “And listen. I have money. My mother left me well off. All she had was her father's—Do you understand? We'll take Uncle Jim and your mother. We'll go to Louisiana—to my old home. It's far from here. There's a plantation to work. There are horses and cattle—a great cypress forest to cut. Oh, you'll have much to do. You'll forget there. You'll learn to love my home. It's a beautiful old place. There are groves where the gray moss blows all day and the nightingales sing all night.”

“My darling!” cried Duane, brokenly. “No, no, no!”

Yet he knew in his heart that he was yielding to her, that he could not resist her a moment longer. What was this madness of love?

“We'll be happy,” she whispered. “Oh, I know. Come!—come!-come!”

Her eyes were closing, heavy-lidded, and she lifted sweet, tremulous, waiting lips.

With bursting heart Duane bent to them. Then he held her, close pressed to him, while with dim eyes he looked out over the line of low hills in the west, down where the sun was setting gold and red, down over the Nueces and the wild brakes of the Rio Grande which he was never to see again.

It was in this solemn and exalted moment that Duane accepted happiness and faced a new life, trusting this brave and tender woman to be stronger than the dark and fateful passion that had shadowed his past.

It would come back—that wind of flame, that madness to forget, that driving, relentless instinct for blood. It would come back with those pale, drifting, haunting faces and the accusing fading eyes, but all his life, always between them and him, rendering them powerless, would be the faith and love and beauty of this noble woman.