章节正文
The Lone Star Ranger
by Zane Grey
To
CAPTAIN JOHN HUGHES
and his Texas Rangers
It may seem strange to you that out of all the stories I heard
on the Rio Grande I should choose as first that of Buck
Duane--outlaw and gunman.
But, indeed, Ranger Coffee's story of the last of the Duanes
has haunted me, and I have given full rein to imagination and
have retold it in my own way. It deals with the old law--the
old border days--therefore it is better first. Soon, perchance,
I shall have the pleasure of writing of the border of to-day,
which in Joe Sitter's laconic speech, "Shore is 'most as bad
an' wild as ever!"
In the North and East there is a popular idea that the frontier
of the West is a thing long past, and remembered now only in
stories. As I think of this I remember Ranger Sitter when he
made that remark, while he grimly stroked an unhealed bullet
wound. And I remember the giant Vaughn, that typical son of
stalwart Texas, sitting there quietly with bandaged head, his
thoughtful eye boding ill to the outlaw who had ambushed him.
Only a few months have passed since then--when I had my
memorable sojourn with you--and yet, in that short time,
Russell and Moore have crossed the Divide, like Rangers.
Gentlemen,--I have the honor to dedicate this book to you, and
the hope that it shall fall to my lot to tell the world the
truth about a strange, unique, and misunderstood body of
men--the Texas Rangers--who made the great Lone Star State
habitable, who never know peaceful rest and sleep, who are
passing, who surely will not be forgotten and will some day
come into their own.
ZANE GREY
BOOK 1 THE OUTLAW
CHAPTER I
So it was in him, then--an inherited fighting instinct, a
driving intensity to kill. He was the last of the Duanes, that
old fighting stock of Texas. But not the memory of his dead
father, nor the pleading of his soft-voiced mother, nor the
warning of this uncle who stood before him now, had brought to
Buck Duane so much realization of the dark passionatestrain in
his blood. It was the recurrence, a hundred-fold increased in
power, of a strange emotion that for the last three years had
arisen in him.
"Yes, Cal Bain's in town, full of bad whisky an' huntin' for
you," repeated the elder man, gravely.
"It's the second time," muttered Duane, as if to himself.
"Son, you can't avoid a meetin'. Leave town till Cal sobers up.
He ain't got it in for you when he's not drinkin'."
"But what's he want me for?" demanded Duane. "To insult me
again? I won't stand that twice."
"He's got a fever that's rampant in Texas these days, my boy.
He wants gun-play. If he meets you he'll try to kill you."
Here it stirred in Duane again, that bursting gush of blood,
like a wind of flame shaking all his inner being, and subsiding
to leave him strangely chilled.
"Kill me! What for?" he asked.
"Lord knows there ain't any reason. But what's that to do with
most of the shootin' these days? Didn't five cowboys over to
Everall's kill one another dead all because they got to jerkin'
at a quirt among themselves? An' Cal has no reason to love you.
His girl was sweet on you."
"I quit when I found out she was his girl."
"I reckon she ain't quit. But never mind her or reasons. Cal's
here, just drunk enough to be ugly. He's achin' to kill
somebody. He's one of them four-flush gun-fighters. He'd like
to be thought bad. There's a lot of wild cowboys who're
ambitious for a reputation. They talk about how quick they are
on the draw. T hey ape Bland an' King Fisher an' Hardin an' all
the big outlaws. They make threats about joinin' the gangs
along the Rio Grande. They laugh at the sheriffs an' brag about
how they'd fix the rangers. Cal's sure not much for you to
bother with, if you only keep out of his way."
"You mean for me to run?" asked Duane, in scorn.
"I reckon I wouldn't put it that way. Just avoid him. Buck, I'm
not afraid Cal would get you if you met down there in town.
You've your father's eye an' his slick hand with a gun. What
I'm most afraid of is that you'll kill Bain."
Duane was silent, letting his uncle's earnest words sink in,
trying to realize their significance.
"If Texas ever recovers from that fool war an' kills off these
outlaws, why, a young man will have a lookout," went on the
uncle. "You're twenty-three now, an' a powerful sight of a fine
fellow, barrin' your temper. You've a chance in life. But if
you go gun-fightin', if you kill a man, you're ruined. Then
you'll kill another. It'll be the same old story. An' the
rangers would make you an outlaw. The rangers mean law an'
order for Texas. This even-break business doesn't work with
them. If you resistarrest they'll kill you. If you submit to
arrest, then you go to jail, an' mebbe you hang."
"I'd never hang," muttered Duane, darkly.
"I reckon you wouldn't," replied the old man. "You'd be like
your father. He was ever ready to draw--too ready. In times
like these, with the Texas rangers enforcin' the law, your Dad
would have been driven to the river. An', son, I'm afraid
you're a chip off the old block. Can't you hold in--keep your
temper--run away from trouble? Because it'll only result in you
gettin' the worst of it in the end. Your father was killed in a
street-fight. An' it was told of him that he shot twice after a
bullet had passed through his heart. Think of the terrible
nature of a man to be able to do that. If you have any such
blood in you, never give it a chance."
"What you say is all very well, uncle," returned Duane, "but
the only way out for me is to run, and I won't do it. Cal Bain
and his outfit have already made me look like a coward. He says
I'm afraid to come out and face him. A man simply can't stand
that in this country. Besides, Cal would shoot me in the back
some day if I didn't face him."
"Well, then, what're you goin' to do?" inquired the elder man.
"I haven't decided--yet."
"No, but you're comin' to it mighty fast. That damned spell is
workin' in you. You're different to-day. I remember how you
used to be moody an' lose your temper an' talk wild. Never was
much afraid of you then. But now you're gettin' cool an' quiet,
an' you think deep, an' I don't like the light in your eye. It
reminds me of your father."
"I wonder what Dad would say to me to-day if he were alive and
here," said Duane.
"What do you think? What could you expect of a man who never
wore a glove on his right hand for twenty years?"
"Well, he'd hardly have said much. Dad never talked. But he
would have done a lot. And I guess I'll go down-town and let
Cal Bain find me."
Then followed a long silence, during which Duane sat with
downcast eyes, and the uncle appeared lost in sad thought of
the future. Presently he turned to Duane with an expression
that denoted resignation, and yet a spirit which showed wherein
they were of the same blood.
"You've got a fast horse--the fastest I know of in this
country. After you meet Bain hurry back home. I'll have a
saddle-bag packed for you and the horse ready."
With that he turned on his heel and went into the house,
leaving Duane to revolve in his mind his singular speech. Buck
wondered presently if he shared his uncle's opinion of the
result of a meeting between himself and Bain. His thoughts were
vague. But on the instant of final decision, when he had
settled with himself that he would meet Bain, such a storm of
passion assailed him that he felt as if he was being shaken
with ague. Yet it was all internal, inside his breast, for his
hand was like a rock and, for all he could see, not a muscle
about him quivered. He had no fear of Bain or of any other man;
but a vague fear of himself, of this strange force in him, made
him ponder and shake his head. It was as if he had not all to
say in this matter. There appeared to have been in him a
reluctance to let himself go, and some voice, some spirit from
a distance, something he was not accountable for, had compelled
him. That hour of Duane's life was like years of actual living,
and in it he became a thoughtful man.
He went into the house and buckled on his belt and gun. The gun
was a Colt .45, six-shot, and heavy, with an ivory handle. He
had packed it, on and off, for five years. Before that it had
been used by his father. There were a number of notches filed
in the bulge of the ivory handle. This gun was the one his
father had fired twice after being shot through the heart, and
his hand had stiffened so tightly upon it in the death-grip
that his fingers had to be pried open. It had never been drawn
upon any man since it had come into Duane's possession. But the
cold, bright polish of the weapon showed how it had been used.
Duane could draw it with inconceivable rapidity, and at twenty
feet he could split a card pointing edgewise toward him.
Duane wished to avoid meeting his mother. Fortunately, as he
thought, she was away from home. He went out and down the path
toward the gate. The air was full of the fragrance of blossoms
and the melody of birds. Outside in the road a neighbor woman
stood talking to a countryman in a wagon; they spoke to him;
and he heard, but did not reply. Then he began to stride down
the road toward the town.
Wellston was a small town, but important in that unsettled part
of the great state because it was the trading-center of several
hundred miles of territory. On the main street there were
perhaps fifty buildings, some brick, some frame, mostly adobe,
and one-third of the lot, and by far the most prosperous, were
saloons. From the road Duane turned into this street. It was a
wide thoroughfare lined by hitching-rails and saddled horses
and vehicles of various kinds. Duane's eye ranged down the
street, taking in all at a glance, particularly persons moving
leisurely up and down. Not a cowboy was in sight. Duane
slackened his stride, and by the time he reached Sol White's
place, which was the first saloon, he was walking slowly.
Several people spoke to him and turned to look back after they
had passed. He paused at the door of White's saloon, took a
sharp survey of the interior, then stepped inside.
The saloon was large and cool, full of men and noise and smoke.
The noise ceased upon his entrance, and the silence ensuing
presently broke to the clink of Mexican silver dollars at a
monte table. Sol White, who was behind the bar, straightened up
when he saw Duane; then, without speaking, he bent over to
rinse a glass. All eyes except those of the Mexican gamblers
were turned upon Duane; and these glances were keen,
speculative, questioning. These men knew Bain was looking for
trouble; they probably had heard his boasts. But what did Duane
intend to do? Several of the cowboys and ranchers present
exchanged glances. Duane had been weighed by unerring Texas
instinct, by men who all packed guns. The boy was the son of
his father. Whereupon they greeted him and returned to their
drinks and cards. Sol White stood with his big red hands out
upon the bar; he was a tall, raw-boned Texan with a long
mustache waxed to sharp points.
"Howdy, Buck," was his greeting to Duane. He spoke carelessly
and averted his dark gaze for an instant.
"Howdy, Sol," replied Duane, slowly. "Say, Sol, I hear there's
by Zane Grey
To
CAPTAIN JOHN HUGHES
and his Texas Rangers
It may seem strange to you that out of all the stories I heard
on the Rio Grande I should choose as first that of Buck
Duane--outlaw and gunman.
But, indeed, Ranger Coffee's story of the last of the Duanes
has haunted me, and I have given full rein to imagination and
have retold it in my own way. It deals with the old law--the
old border days--therefore it is better first. Soon, perchance,
I shall have the pleasure of writing of the border of to-day,
which in Joe Sitter's laconic speech, "Shore is 'most as bad
an' wild as ever!"
In the North and East there is a popular idea that the frontier
of the West is a thing long past, and remembered now only in
stories. As I think of this I remember Ranger Sitter when he
made that remark, while he grimly stroked an unhealed bullet
wound. And I remember the giant Vaughn, that typical son of
stalwart Texas, sitting there quietly with bandaged head, his
thoughtful eye boding ill to the outlaw who had ambushed him.
Only a few months have passed since then--when I had my
memorable sojourn with you--and yet, in that short time,
Russell and Moore have crossed the Divide, like Rangers.
Gentlemen,--I have the honor to dedicate this book to you, and
the hope that it shall fall to my lot to tell the world the
truth about a strange, unique, and misunderstood body of
men--the Texas Rangers--who made the great Lone Star State
habitable, who never know peaceful rest and sleep, who are
passing, who surely will not be forgotten and will some day
come into their own.
ZANE GREY
BOOK 1 THE OUTLAW
CHAPTER I
So it was in him, then--an inherited fighting instinct, a
driving intensity to kill. He was the last of the Duanes, that
old fighting stock of Texas. But not the memory of his dead
father, nor the pleading of his soft-voiced mother, nor the
warning of this uncle who stood before him now, had brought to
Buck Duane so much realization of the dark passionatestrain in
his blood. It was the recurrence, a hundred-fold increased in
power, of a strange emotion that for the last three years had
arisen in him.
"Yes, Cal Bain's in town, full of bad whisky an' huntin' for
you," repeated the elder man, gravely.
"It's the second time," muttered Duane, as if to himself.
"Son, you can't avoid a meetin'. Leave town till Cal sobers up.
He ain't got it in for you when he's not drinkin'."
"But what's he want me for?" demanded Duane. "To insult me
again? I won't stand that twice."
"He's got a fever that's rampant in Texas these days, my boy.
He wants gun-play. If he meets you he'll try to kill you."
Here it stirred in Duane again, that bursting gush of blood,
like a wind of flame shaking all his inner being, and subsiding
to leave him strangely chilled.
"Kill me! What for?" he asked.
"Lord knows there ain't any reason. But what's that to do with
most of the shootin' these days? Didn't five cowboys over to
Everall's kill one another dead all because they got to jerkin'
at a quirt among themselves? An' Cal has no reason to love you.
His girl was sweet on you."
"I quit when I found out she was his girl."
"I reckon she ain't quit. But never mind her or reasons. Cal's
here, just drunk enough to be ugly. He's achin' to kill
somebody. He's one of them four-flush gun-fighters. He'd like
to be thought bad. There's a lot of wild cowboys who're
ambitious for a reputation. They talk about how quick they are
on the draw. T hey ape Bland an' King Fisher an' Hardin an' all
the big outlaws. They make threats about joinin' the gangs
along the Rio Grande. They laugh at the sheriffs an' brag about
how they'd fix the rangers. Cal's sure not much for you to
bother with, if you only keep out of his way."
"You mean for me to run?" asked Duane, in scorn.
"I reckon I wouldn't put it that way. Just avoid him. Buck, I'm
not afraid Cal would get you if you met down there in town.
You've your father's eye an' his slick hand with a gun. What
I'm most afraid of is that you'll kill Bain."
Duane was silent, letting his uncle's earnest words sink in,
trying to realize their significance.
"If Texas ever recovers from that fool war an' kills off these
outlaws, why, a young man will have a lookout," went on the
uncle. "You're twenty-three now, an' a powerful sight of a fine
fellow, barrin' your temper. You've a chance in life. But if
you go gun-fightin', if you kill a man, you're ruined. Then
you'll kill another. It'll be the same old story. An' the
rangers would make you an outlaw. The rangers mean law an'
order for Texas. This even-break business doesn't work with
them. If you resistarrest they'll kill you. If you submit to
arrest, then you go to jail, an' mebbe you hang."
"I'd never hang," muttered Duane, darkly.
"I reckon you wouldn't," replied the old man. "You'd be like
your father. He was ever ready to draw--too ready. In times
like these, with the Texas rangers enforcin' the law, your Dad
would have been driven to the river. An', son, I'm afraid
you're a chip off the old block. Can't you hold in--keep your
temper--run away from trouble? Because it'll only result in you
gettin' the worst of it in the end. Your father was killed in a
street-fight. An' it was told of him that he shot twice after a
bullet had passed through his heart. Think of the terrible
nature of a man to be able to do that. If you have any such
blood in you, never give it a chance."
"What you say is all very well, uncle," returned Duane, "but
the only way out for me is to run, and I won't do it. Cal Bain
and his outfit have already made me look like a coward. He says
I'm afraid to come out and face him. A man simply can't stand
that in this country. Besides, Cal would shoot me in the back
some day if I didn't face him."
"Well, then, what're you goin' to do?" inquired the elder man.
"I haven't decided--yet."
"No, but you're comin' to it mighty fast. That damned spell is
workin' in you. You're different to-day. I remember how you
used to be moody an' lose your temper an' talk wild. Never was
much afraid of you then. But now you're gettin' cool an' quiet,
an' you think deep, an' I don't like the light in your eye. It
reminds me of your father."
"I wonder what Dad would say to me to-day if he were alive and
here," said Duane.
"What do you think? What could you expect of a man who never
wore a glove on his right hand for twenty years?"
"Well, he'd hardly have said much. Dad never talked. But he
would have done a lot. And I guess I'll go down-town and let
Cal Bain find me."
Then followed a long silence, during which Duane sat with
downcast eyes, and the uncle appeared lost in sad thought of
the future. Presently he turned to Duane with an expression
that denoted resignation, and yet a spirit which showed wherein
they were of the same blood.
"You've got a fast horse--the fastest I know of in this
country. After you meet Bain hurry back home. I'll have a
saddle-bag packed for you and the horse ready."
With that he turned on his heel and went into the house,
leaving Duane to revolve in his mind his singular speech. Buck
wondered presently if he shared his uncle's opinion of the
result of a meeting between himself and Bain. His thoughts were
vague. But on the instant of final decision, when he had
settled with himself that he would meet Bain, such a storm of
passion assailed him that he felt as if he was being shaken
with ague. Yet it was all internal, inside his breast, for his
hand was like a rock and, for all he could see, not a muscle
about him quivered. He had no fear of Bain or of any other man;
but a vague fear of himself, of this strange force in him, made
him ponder and shake his head. It was as if he had not all to
say in this matter. There appeared to have been in him a
reluctance to let himself go, and some voice, some spirit from
a distance, something he was not accountable for, had compelled
him. That hour of Duane's life was like years of actual living,
and in it he became a thoughtful man.
He went into the house and buckled on his belt and gun. The gun
was a Colt .45, six-shot, and heavy, with an ivory handle. He
had packed it, on and off, for five years. Before that it had
been used by his father. There were a number of notches filed
in the bulge of the ivory handle. This gun was the one his
father had fired twice after being shot through the heart, and
his hand had stiffened so tightly upon it in the death-grip
that his fingers had to be pried open. It had never been drawn
upon any man since it had come into Duane's possession. But the
cold, bright polish of the weapon showed how it had been used.
Duane could draw it with inconceivable rapidity, and at twenty
feet he could split a card pointing edgewise toward him.
Duane wished to avoid meeting his mother. Fortunately, as he
thought, she was away from home. He went out and down the path
toward the gate. The air was full of the fragrance of blossoms
and the melody of birds. Outside in the road a neighbor woman
stood talking to a countryman in a wagon; they spoke to him;
and he heard, but did not reply. Then he began to stride down
the road toward the town.
Wellston was a small town, but important in that unsettled part
of the great state because it was the trading-center of several
hundred miles of territory. On the main street there were
perhaps fifty buildings, some brick, some frame, mostly adobe,
and one-third of the lot, and by far the most prosperous, were
saloons. From the road Duane turned into this street. It was a
wide thoroughfare lined by hitching-rails and saddled horses
and vehicles of various kinds. Duane's eye ranged down the
street, taking in all at a glance, particularly persons moving
leisurely up and down. Not a cowboy was in sight. Duane
slackened his stride, and by the time he reached Sol White's
place, which was the first saloon, he was walking slowly.
Several people spoke to him and turned to look back after they
had passed. He paused at the door of White's saloon, took a
sharp survey of the interior, then stepped inside.
The saloon was large and cool, full of men and noise and smoke.
The noise ceased upon his entrance, and the silence ensuing
presently broke to the clink of Mexican silver dollars at a
monte table. Sol White, who was behind the bar, straightened up
when he saw Duane; then, without speaking, he bent over to
rinse a glass. All eyes except those of the Mexican gamblers
were turned upon Duane; and these glances were keen,
speculative, questioning. These men knew Bain was looking for
trouble; they probably had heard his boasts. But what did Duane
intend to do? Several of the cowboys and ranchers present
exchanged glances. Duane had been weighed by unerring Texas
instinct, by men who all packed guns. The boy was the son of
his father. Whereupon they greeted him and returned to their
drinks and cards. Sol White stood with his big red hands out
upon the bar; he was a tall, raw-boned Texan with a long
mustache waxed to sharp points.
"Howdy, Buck," was his greeting to Duane. He spoke carelessly
and averted his dark gaze for an instant.
"Howdy, Sol," replied Duane, slowly. "Say, Sol, I hear there's
- haunted [´hɔ:tid]
a.常出现鬼的，闹鬼的 (初中英语单词) - imagination [i,mædʒi´neiʃən] n.想象(力) (初中英语单词)
- writing [´raitiŋ] n.书写；写作；书法 (初中英语单词)
- peaceful [´pi:sfəl] a.和平的；平静的 (初中英语单词)
- instinct [´instiŋkt] n.本能；直觉；天资 (初中英语单词)
- realization [,riəlai´zeiʃən] n.实现；认识 (初中英语单词)
- emotion [i´məuʃən] n.感情；情绪；激动 (初中英语单词)
- insult [in´sʌlt, ´insʌlt] n.&vt.侮辱；损害 (初中英语单词)
- strangely [´streindʒli] ad.奇怪地；陌生地 (初中英语单词)
- reckon [´rekən] v.计算；认为；估计 (初中英语单词)
- earnest [´ə:nist] a.认真的 n.认真；诚恳 (初中英语单词)
- temper [´tempə] n.韧度 v.锻炼；调和 (初中英语单词)
- resist [ri´zist] v.抵抗；对抗；抵制 (初中英语单词)
- arrest [ə´rest] vt.逮捕 n.逮捕；停止 (初中英语单词)
- submit [səb´mit] vt.使服从；使忍受 (初中英语单词)
- driven [´driv(ə)n] drive 的过去分词 (初中英语单词)
- coward [´kauəd] n.胆怯者 a.胆小的 (初中英语单词)
- presently [´prezəntli] ad.不久；目前 (初中英语单词)
- instant [´instənt] a.立即的 n.紧迫；瞬间 (初中英语单词)
- actual [´æktʃuəl] a.现实的；实际的 (初中英语单词)
- weapon [´wepən] n.武器；斗争手段 (初中英语单词)
- mostly [´məustli] ad.主要地；多半；通常 (初中英语单词)
- prosperous [´prɔspərəs] a.繁荣的；顺利的 (初中英语单词)
- survey [´sə:vei] vt.&n.俯瞰；审视；测量 (初中英语单词)
- interior [in´tiəriə] n.&a.内部地(的) (初中英语单词)
- mexican [´meksikən] n.&a.墨西哥人(语)的 (初中英语单词)
- grimly [´grimli] ad.严厉地；坚强地 (高中英语单词)
- typical [´tipikəl] a.典型的；象征的 (高中英语单词)
- dedicate [´dedikeit] vt.献给；献身于 (高中英语单词)
- unique [ju:´ni:k] a.唯一的 n.独一无二 (高中英语单词)
- intensity [in´tensiti] a.激烈；强度；深度 (高中英语单词)
- passionate [´pæʃənit] a.易动情的；易怒的 (高中英语单词)
- strain [strein] vt.拉紧 vi.拖 n.张力 (高中英语单词)
- repeated [ri´pi:tid] a.反复的；重复的 (高中英语单词)
- outfit [´aut,fit] n.装备 vt.供给；装备 (高中英语单词)
- mighty [´maiti] a.强有力的 ad.很 (高中英语单词)
- damned [dæmd] a.该死的 ad.非常，极 (高中英语单词)
- resignation [,rezig´neiʃən] n.辞职(书)；放弃；顺从 (高中英语单词)
- singular [´siŋgjulə] a.单一的；非凡的 (高中英语单词)
- internal [in´tə:nl] a.内部的；国内的 (高中英语单词)
- ponder [´pɔndə] v.沉思；考虑；估量 (高中英语单词)
- thoughtful [´θɔ:tfəl] a.深思的；体贴的 (高中英语单词)
- tightly [´taitli] ad.紧，紧密地 (高中英语单词)
- fortunately [´fɔ:tʃənətli] ad.幸运地 (高中英语单词)
- fragrance [´freigrəns] n.芬芳，芳香 (高中英语单词)
- melody [´melədi] n.悦耳的音调；乐曲 (高中英语单词)
- countryman [´kʌntrimən] n.同胞(乡)，乡下人 (高中英语单词)
- stride [straid] n.进展 v.跨过；骑 (高中英语单词)
- saloon [sə´lu:n] n.大厅；餐车 (高中英语单词)
- outlaw [´autlɔ:] n.歹徒 vt.将...放逐 (英语四级单词)
- sojourn [´sɔdʒə:n] vi.&n.旅居；逗留 (英语四级单词)
- reputation [repju´teiʃən] n.名誉；名声；信誉 (英语四级单词)
- fisher [´fiʃə] n.捕鱼人(船)；鱼貂 (英语四级单词)
- revolve [ri´vɔlv] v.(使)旋转；循环 (英语四级单词)
- polish [´pəuliʃ] a.波兰(人)的 n.波兰语 (英语四级单词)
- rapidity [rə´piditi] n.迅速；险峻；陡 (英语四级单词)
- whereupon [,weərə´pɔn] ad.在什么上面；因此 (英语四级单词)
- thoroughfare [´θʌrəfeə] n.大路；干道；通道 (英语六级单词)
- taking [´teikiŋ] a.迷人的 n.捕获物 (英语六级单词)
- cowboy [´kaubɔi] n.牧童；牛仔 (英语六级单词)
- speaking [´spi:kiŋ] n.说话 a.发言的 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
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