章节正文
the popular idea along. For they CAN"T last. What you need out
here is some new blood. Savvy what I mean?"
"Wal, I reckon I do," he replied, looking as if a storm had
blown over him. "Stranger, I'll look you up the next time I
come to town."
Then he went out.
Laramie had eyes like flint striking fire.
He breathed a deep breath and looked around the room before his
gaze fixed again on Duane.
"Wal," he replied, speaking low. "You've picked the right men.
Now, who in the hell are you?"
Reaching into the inside pocket of his buckskin vest, Duane
turned the lining out. A star-shaped bright silver object
flashed as he shoved it, pocket and all, under Jim's hard eyes.
"RANGER!" he whispered, cracking the table with his fist. "You
sure rung true to me."
"Laramie, do you know who's boss of this secret gang of
rustlers hereabouts?" asked Duane, bluntly. It was
characteristic of him to come sharp to the point. His
voice--something deep, easy, cool about him--seemed to steady
Laramie.
"No," replied Laramie.
"Does anybody know?" went on Duane.
"Wal, I reckon there's not one honest native who KNOWS."
"But you have your suspicions?"
"We have."
"Give me your idea about this crowd that hangs round the
saloons--the regulars."
"Jest a bad lot," replied Laramie, with the quick assurance of
knowledge. "Most of them have been here years. Others have
drifted in. Some of them work, odd times. They rustle a few
steers, steal, rob, anythin' for a little money to drink an'
gamble. Jest a bad lot!"
"Have you any idea whether Cheseldine and his gang are
associated with this gang here?"
"Lord knows. I've always suspected them the same gang. None of
us ever seen Cheseldine--an' thet's strange, when Knell,
Poggin, Panhandle Smith, Blossom Kane, and Fletcher, they all
ride here often. No, Poggin doesn't come often. But the others
do. For thet matter, they're around all over west of the
Pecos."
"Now I'm puzzled over this," said Duane. "Why do
men--apparently honest men--seem to be so close-mouthed here?
Is that. a fact, or only my impression?"
"It's a sure fact," replied Laramie, darkly. "Men have lost
cattle an' property in Fairdale--lost them honestly or
otherwise, as hasn't been proved. An' in some cases when they
talked--hinted a little--they was found dead. Apparently held
up an robbed. But dead. Dead men don't talk! Thet's why we're
close mouthed."
Duane felt a dark, somber sternness. Rustling cattle was not
intolerable. Western Texas had gone on prospering, growing in
spite of the hordes of rustlers ranging its vast stretches; but
a cold, secret, murderous hold on a little struggling community
was something too strange, too terrible for men to stand long.
The ranger was about to speak again when the clatter of hoofs
interrupted him. Horses halted out in front, and one rider got
down. Floyd Lawson entered. He called for tobacco.
If his visit surprised Laramie he did not show any evidence.
But Lawson showed rage as he saw the ranger, and then a dark
glint flitted from the eyes that shifted from Duane to Laramie
and back again. Duane leaned easily against the counter.
"Say, that was a bad break of yours," Lawson said. "If you come
fooling round the ranch again there'll be hell."
It seemed strange that a man who had lived west of the Pecos
for ten years could not see in Duane something which forbade
that kind of talk. It certainly was not nerve Lawson showed;
men of courage were seldom intolerant. With the matchless nerve
that characterized the great gunmen of the day there was a
cool, unobtrusive manner, a speech brief, almost gentle,
certainly courteous. Lawson was a hot-headed Louisianian of
French extraction; a man, evidently, who had never been crossed
in anything, and who was strong, brutal, passionate, which
qualities in the face of a situation like this made him simply
a fool.
"I'm saying again, you used your ranger bluff just to get near
Ray Longstreth," Lawson sneered. "Mind you, if you come up
there again there'll be hell."
"You're right. But not the kind you think," Duane retorted, his
voice sharp and cold.
"Ray Longstreth wouldn't stoop to know a dirty blood-tracker
like you," said Lawson, hotly. He did not seem to have a
deliberate intention to rouse Duane; the man was simply
rancorous, jealous. "I'll call you right. You cheap bluffer!
You four-flush! You damned interfering, conceited ranger!"
"Lawson, I'll not take offense, because you seem to be
championing your beautiful cousin," replied Duane, in slow
speech. "But let me return your compliment. You're a fine
Southerner! Why, you're only a cheap four-flush--damned,
bull-headed RUSTLER!"
Duane hissed the last word. Then for him there was the truth in
Lawson's working passion-blackened face.
Lawson jerked, moved, meant to draw. But how slow! Duane lunged
forward. His long arm swept up. And Lawson staggered backward,
knocking table and chairs, to fall hard, in a half-sitting
posture against the wall.
"Don't draw!" warned Duane.
"Lawson, git away from your gun!" yelled Laramie.
But Lawson was crazed with fury. He tugged at his hip, his face
corded with purple welts, malignant, murderous. Duane kicked
the gun out of his hand. Lawson got up, raging, and rushed out.
Laramie lifted his shaking hands.
"What'd you wing him for?" he wailed. "He was drawin' on you.
Kickin' men like him won't do out here."
"That bull-headed fool will roar and butt himself with all his
gang right into our hands. He's just the man I've needed to
meet. Besides, shooting him would have been murder."
"Murder!" exclaimed Laramie.
"Yes, for me," replied Duane.
"That may be true--whoever you are--but if Lawson's the man you
think he is he'll begin thet secret underground bizness. Why,
Lawson won't sleep of nights now. He an' Longstreth have always
been after me."
"Laramie, what are your eyes for?" demanded Duane. "Watch out.
And now here. See your friend Morton. Tell him this game grows
hot. Together you approach four or five men you know well and
can absolutely trust. I may need your help."
Then Duane went from place to place, corner to corner, bar to
bar, watching, listening, recording. The excitement had
preceded him, and speculation was rife. He thought best to keep
out of it. After dark he stole up to Longstreth's ranch. The
evening was warm; the doors were open; and in the twilight the
only lamps that had been lit were in Longstreth's big sitting-
room, at the far end of the house. When a buckboard drove up
and Longstreth and Lawson alighted, Duane was well hidden in
the bushes, so well screened that he could get but a fleeting
glimpse of Longstreth as he went in. For all Duane could see,
he appeared to be a calm and quiet man, intense beneath the
surface, with an air of dignity under insult. Duane's chance to
observe Lawson was lost. They went into the house without
speaking and closed the door.
At the other end of the porch, close under a window, was an
offset between step and wall, and there in the shadow Duane
hid. So Duane waited there in the darkness with patience born
of many hours of hiding.
Presently a lamp was lit; and Duane heard the swish of skirts.
"Something's happened surely, Ruth," he heard Miss Longstreth
say, anxiously. "Papa just met me in the hall and didn't speak.
He seemed pale, worried."
"Cousin Floyd looked like a thunder-cloud," said Ruth. "For
once he didn't try to kiss me. Something's happened. Well, Ray,
this had been a bad day."
"Oh, dear! Ruth, what can we do? These are wild men. Floyd
makes life miserable for me. And he teases you unmer--"
"I don't call it teasing. Floyd wants to spoon," declared Ruth,
emphatically. "He'd run after any woman."
"A fine compliment to me, Cousin Ruth," laughed Ray.
"I don't care," replied Ruth, stubbornly. "it's so. He's mushy.
And when he's been drinking and tries to kiss me--I hate him!"
There were steps on the hall floor.
"Hello, girls!" sounded out Lawson's voice, minus its usual
gaiety.
"Floyd, what's the matter?" asked Ray, presently. "I never saw
papa as he is to-night, nor you so--so worried. Tell me, what
has happened?"
"Well, Ray, we had a jar to-day," replied Lawson, with a blunt,
expressive laugh.
"Jar?" echoed both the girls, curiously.
"We had to submit to a damnable outrage," added Lawson,
passionately, as if the sound of his voice augmented his
feeling. "Listen, girls; I'll tell you-all about it." He
coughed, cleared his throat in a way that betrayed he had been
drinking.
Duane sunk deeper into the shadow of his covert, and,
stiffening his muscles for a protected spell of rigidity,
prepared to listen with all acuteness and intensity. Just one
word from this Lawson, inadvertently uttered in a moment of
passion, might be the word Duane needed for his clue.
"It happened at the town hall," began Lawson, rapidly. "Your
father and Judge Owens and I were there in consultation with
three ranchers from out of town. Then that damned ranger
stalked in dragging Snecker, the fellow who hid here in the
house. He had arrested Snecker for alleged assault on a
restaurant-keeper named Laramie. Snecker being obviously
innocent, he was discharged. Then this ranger began shouting
his insults. Law was a farce in Fairdale. The court was a
farce. There was no law. Your father's office as mayor should
be impeached. He made arrests only for petty offenses. He was
afraid of the rustlers, highwaymen, murderers. He was afraid
or--he just let them alone. He used his office to cheat
ranchers and cattlemen in lawsuits. All this the ranger yelled
for every one to hear. A damnable outrage. Your father, Ray,
insulted in his own court by a rowdy ranger!"
"Oh!" cried Ray Longstreth, in mingled distress and anger.
"The ranger service wants to rule western Texas," went on
Lawson. "These rangers are all a low set, many of them worse
than the outlaws they hunt. Some of them were outlaws and
gun-fighters before they became rangers. This is one of the
worst of the lot. He's keen, intelligent, smooth, and that
makes him more to be feared. For he is to be feared. He wanted
to kill. He would kill. If your father had made the least move
he would have shot him. He's a cold-nerved devil--the born
gunman. My God, any instant I expected to see your father fall
dead at my feet!"
"Oh, Floyd! The unspeakable ruffian!" cried Ray Longstreth,
passionately.
"You see, Ray, this fellow, like all rangers, seeks notoriety.
He made that play with Snecker just for a chance to rant
against your father. He tried to inflame all Fairdale against
him. That about the lawsuits was the worst! Damn him! He'll
make us enemies."
here is some new blood. Savvy what I mean?"
"Wal, I reckon I do," he replied, looking as if a storm had
blown over him. "Stranger, I'll look you up the next time I
come to town."
Then he went out.
Laramie had eyes like flint striking fire.
He breathed a deep breath and looked around the room before his
gaze fixed again on Duane.
"Wal," he replied, speaking low. "You've picked the right men.
Now, who in the hell are you?"
Reaching into the inside pocket of his buckskin vest, Duane
turned the lining out. A star-shaped bright silver object
flashed as he shoved it, pocket and all, under Jim's hard eyes.
"RANGER!" he whispered, cracking the table with his fist. "You
sure rung true to me."
"Laramie, do you know who's boss of this secret gang of
rustlers hereabouts?" asked Duane, bluntly. It was
characteristic of him to come sharp to the point. His
voice--something deep, easy, cool about him--seemed to steady
Laramie.
"No," replied Laramie.
"Does anybody know?" went on Duane.
"Wal, I reckon there's not one honest native who KNOWS."
"But you have your suspicions?"
"We have."
"Give me your idea about this crowd that hangs round the
saloons--the regulars."
"Jest a bad lot," replied Laramie, with the quick assurance of
knowledge. "Most of them have been here years. Others have
drifted in. Some of them work, odd times. They rustle a few
steers, steal, rob, anythin' for a little money to drink an'
gamble. Jest a bad lot!"
"Have you any idea whether Cheseldine and his gang are
associated with this gang here?"
"Lord knows. I've always suspected them the same gang. None of
us ever seen Cheseldine--an' thet's strange, when Knell,
Poggin, Panhandle Smith, Blossom Kane, and Fletcher, they all
ride here often. No, Poggin doesn't come often. But the others
do. For thet matter, they're around all over west of the
Pecos."
"Now I'm puzzled over this," said Duane. "Why do
men--apparently honest men--seem to be so close-mouthed here?
Is that. a fact, or only my impression?"
"It's a sure fact," replied Laramie, darkly. "Men have lost
cattle an' property in Fairdale--lost them honestly or
otherwise, as hasn't been proved. An' in some cases when they
talked--hinted a little--they was found dead. Apparently held
up an robbed. But dead. Dead men don't talk! Thet's why we're
close mouthed."
Duane felt a dark, somber sternness. Rustling cattle was not
intolerable. Western Texas had gone on prospering, growing in
spite of the hordes of rustlers ranging its vast stretches; but
a cold, secret, murderous hold on a little struggling community
was something too strange, too terrible for men to stand long.
The ranger was about to speak again when the clatter of hoofs
interrupted him. Horses halted out in front, and one rider got
down. Floyd Lawson entered. He called for tobacco.
If his visit surprised Laramie he did not show any evidence.
But Lawson showed rage as he saw the ranger, and then a dark
glint flitted from the eyes that shifted from Duane to Laramie
and back again. Duane leaned easily against the counter.
"Say, that was a bad break of yours," Lawson said. "If you come
fooling round the ranch again there'll be hell."
It seemed strange that a man who had lived west of the Pecos
for ten years could not see in Duane something which forbade
that kind of talk. It certainly was not nerve Lawson showed;
men of courage were seldom intolerant. With the matchless nerve
that characterized the great gunmen of the day there was a
cool, unobtrusive manner, a speech brief, almost gentle,
certainly courteous. Lawson was a hot-headed Louisianian of
French extraction; a man, evidently, who had never been crossed
in anything, and who was strong, brutal, passionate, which
qualities in the face of a situation like this made him simply
a fool.
"I'm saying again, you used your ranger bluff just to get near
Ray Longstreth," Lawson sneered. "Mind you, if you come up
there again there'll be hell."
"You're right. But not the kind you think," Duane retorted, his
voice sharp and cold.
"Ray Longstreth wouldn't stoop to know a dirty blood-tracker
like you," said Lawson, hotly. He did not seem to have a
deliberate intention to rouse Duane; the man was simply
rancorous, jealous. "I'll call you right. You cheap bluffer!
You four-flush! You damned interfering, conceited ranger!"
"Lawson, I'll not take offense, because you seem to be
championing your beautiful cousin," replied Duane, in slow
speech. "But let me return your compliment. You're a fine
Southerner! Why, you're only a cheap four-flush--damned,
bull-headed RUSTLER!"
Duane hissed the last word. Then for him there was the truth in
Lawson's working passion-blackened face.
Lawson jerked, moved, meant to draw. But how slow! Duane lunged
forward. His long arm swept up. And Lawson staggered backward,
knocking table and chairs, to fall hard, in a half-sitting
posture against the wall.
"Don't draw!" warned Duane.
"Lawson, git away from your gun!" yelled Laramie.
But Lawson was crazed with fury. He tugged at his hip, his face
corded with purple welts, malignant, murderous. Duane kicked
the gun out of his hand. Lawson got up, raging, and rushed out.
Laramie lifted his shaking hands.
"What'd you wing him for?" he wailed. "He was drawin' on you.
Kickin' men like him won't do out here."
"That bull-headed fool will roar and butt himself with all his
gang right into our hands. He's just the man I've needed to
meet. Besides, shooting him would have been murder."
"Murder!" exclaimed Laramie.
"Yes, for me," replied Duane.
"That may be true--whoever you are--but if Lawson's the man you
think he is he'll begin thet secret underground bizness. Why,
Lawson won't sleep of nights now. He an' Longstreth have always
been after me."
"Laramie, what are your eyes for?" demanded Duane. "Watch out.
And now here. See your friend Morton. Tell him this game grows
hot. Together you approach four or five men you know well and
can absolutely trust. I may need your help."
Then Duane went from place to place, corner to corner, bar to
bar, watching, listening, recording. The excitement had
preceded him, and speculation was rife. He thought best to keep
out of it. After dark he stole up to Longstreth's ranch. The
evening was warm; the doors were open; and in the twilight the
only lamps that had been lit were in Longstreth's big sitting-
room, at the far end of the house. When a buckboard drove up
and Longstreth and Lawson alighted, Duane was well hidden in
the bushes, so well screened that he could get but a fleeting
glimpse of Longstreth as he went in. For all Duane could see,
he appeared to be a calm and quiet man, intense beneath the
surface, with an air of dignity under insult. Duane's chance to
observe Lawson was lost. They went into the house without
speaking and closed the door.
At the other end of the porch, close under a window, was an
offset between step and wall, and there in the shadow Duane
hid. So Duane waited there in the darkness with patience born
of many hours of hiding.
Presently a lamp was lit; and Duane heard the swish of skirts.
"Something's happened surely, Ruth," he heard Miss Longstreth
say, anxiously. "Papa just met me in the hall and didn't speak.
He seemed pale, worried."
"Cousin Floyd looked like a thunder-cloud," said Ruth. "For
once he didn't try to kiss me. Something's happened. Well, Ray,
this had been a bad day."
"Oh, dear! Ruth, what can we do? These are wild men. Floyd
makes life miserable for me. And he teases you unmer--"
"I don't call it teasing. Floyd wants to spoon," declared Ruth,
emphatically. "He'd run after any woman."
"A fine compliment to me, Cousin Ruth," laughed Ray.
"I don't care," replied Ruth, stubbornly. "it's so. He's mushy.
And when he's been drinking and tries to kiss me--I hate him!"
There were steps on the hall floor.
"Hello, girls!" sounded out Lawson's voice, minus its usual
gaiety.
"Floyd, what's the matter?" asked Ray, presently. "I never saw
papa as he is to-night, nor you so--so worried. Tell me, what
has happened?"
"Well, Ray, we had a jar to-day," replied Lawson, with a blunt,
expressive laugh.
"Jar?" echoed both the girls, curiously.
"We had to submit to a damnable outrage," added Lawson,
passionately, as if the sound of his voice augmented his
feeling. "Listen, girls; I'll tell you-all about it." He
coughed, cleared his throat in a way that betrayed he had been
drinking.
Duane sunk deeper into the shadow of his covert, and,
stiffening his muscles for a protected spell of rigidity,
prepared to listen with all acuteness and intensity. Just one
word from this Lawson, inadvertently uttered in a moment of
passion, might be the word Duane needed for his clue.
"It happened at the town hall," began Lawson, rapidly. "Your
father and Judge Owens and I were there in consultation with
three ranchers from out of town. Then that damned ranger
stalked in dragging Snecker, the fellow who hid here in the
house. He had arrested Snecker for alleged assault on a
restaurant-keeper named Laramie. Snecker being obviously
innocent, he was discharged. Then this ranger began shouting
his insults. Law was a farce in Fairdale. The court was a
farce. There was no law. Your father's office as mayor should
be impeached. He made arrests only for petty offenses. He was
afraid of the rustlers, highwaymen, murderers. He was afraid
or--he just let them alone. He used his office to cheat
ranchers and cattlemen in lawsuits. All this the ranger yelled
for every one to hear. A damnable outrage. Your father, Ray,
insulted in his own court by a rowdy ranger!"
"Oh!" cried Ray Longstreth, in mingled distress and anger.
"The ranger service wants to rule western Texas," went on
Lawson. "These rangers are all a low set, many of them worse
than the outlaws they hunt. Some of them were outlaws and
gun-fighters before they became rangers. This is one of the
worst of the lot. He's keen, intelligent, smooth, and that
makes him more to be feared. For he is to be feared. He wanted
to kill. He would kill. If your father had made the least move
he would have shot him. He's a cold-nerved devil--the born
gunman. My God, any instant I expected to see your father fall
dead at my feet!"
"Oh, Floyd! The unspeakable ruffian!" cried Ray Longstreth,
passionately.
"You see, Ray, this fellow, like all rangers, seeks notoriety.
He made that play with Snecker just for a chance to rant
against your father. He tried to inflame all Fairdale against
him. That about the lawsuits was the worst! Damn him! He'll
make us enemies."
- reckon [´rekən]
v.计算；认为；估计 (初中英语单词) - striking [´straikiŋ] a.显著的，明显的 (初中英语单词)
- breath [breθ] n.呼吸；气息 (初中英语单词)
- rustle [´rʌsl] v.&n.(使)沙沙作响 (初中英语单词)
- blossom [´blɔsəm] n.花；开花期 vi.开花 (初中英语单词)
- honestly [´ɔnistli] ad.诚实地，老实地 (初中英语单词)
- western [´westən] a.西的；西方的 (初中英语单词)
- evidently [´evidəntli] ad.明显地 (初中英语单词)
- intention [in´tenʃən] n.意图；打算；意义 (初中英语单词)
- jealous [´dʒeləs] a.妒忌的 (初中英语单词)
- offense [ə´fens] n.冒犯；触怒；犯法 (初中英语单词)
- working [´wə:kiŋ] a.工人的；劳动的 (初中英语单词)
- purple [´pə:pl] n.紫色 a.紫(红)的 (初中英语单词)
- absolutely [´æbsəlu:tli] ad.绝对地；确实 (初中英语单词)
- excitement [ik´saitmənt] n.兴奋；骚动；煽动 (初中英语单词)
- twilight [´twailait] n.黎明；黄昏 (初中英语单词)
- hidden [´hid(ə)n] hide 的过去分词 (初中英语单词)
- dignity [´digniti] n.尊严，尊贵；高官显贵 (初中英语单词)
- insult [in´sʌlt, ´insʌlt] n.&vt.侮辱；损害 (初中英语单词)
- patience [´peiʃəns] n.忍耐(力)；耐心；坚韧 (初中英语单词)
- miserable [´mizərəbəl] a.悲惨的；可怜的 (初中英语单词)
- presently [´prezəntli] ad.不久；目前 (初中英语单词)
- submit [səb´mit] vt.使服从；使忍受 (初中英语单词)
- throat [θrəut] n.咽喉；嗓子；出入口 (初中英语单词)
- assault [ə´sɔ:lt] vt.袭击；殴打 n.攻击 (初中英语单词)
- distress [di´stres] n.痛苦 vt.使苦恼 (初中英语单词)
- intelligent [in´telidʒənt] a.聪明的；理智的 (初中英语单词)
- instant [´instənt] a.立即的 n.紧迫；瞬间 (初中英语单词)
- lining [´lainiŋ] n.衬里；衬料 (高中英语单词)
- assurance [ə´ʃuərəns] n.保证；自信；信任 (高中英语单词)
- apparently [ə´pærəntli] ad.显然，表面上地 (高中英语单词)
- clatter [´klætə] n.&v.喧嚷；骚动 (高中英语单词)
- courteous [´kə:tiəs] a.有礼貌的；殷勤的 (高中英语单词)
- passionate [´pæʃənit] a.易动情的；易怒的 (高中英语单词)
- saying [´seiŋ, ´sei-iŋ] n.言语；言论；格言 (高中英语单词)
- damned [dæmd] a.该死的 ad.非常，极 (高中英语单词)
- compliment [´kɔmplimənt] n.敬意 vt.赞美；祝贺 (高中英语单词)
- underground [,ʌndə´graund] ad.&a.地下(的) (高中英语单词)
- speculation [,spekju´leiʃən] n.思索，推测；投机 (高中英语单词)
- intense [in´tens] a.强烈的；紧张的 (高中英语单词)
- anxiously [´æŋkʃəsli] ad.挂念地；渴望地 (高中英语单词)
- intensity [in´tensiti] a.激烈；强度；深度 (高中英语单词)
- outrage [´aut,reidʒ] n.残暴 vt.虐待；伤害 (高中英语单词)
- somber [´sɔmbə] a.昏暗的；忧郁的 (英语四级单词)
- murderous [´mə:dərəs] a.行凶的；势不可挡的 (英语四级单词)
- matchless [´mætʃləs] a.无敌的，无比的 (英语四级单词)
- louisianian [lu(:),izi´æniən] a.路易斯安那州(人)的 (英语四级单词)
- brutal [´bru:tl] a.兽性的；残暴的 (英语四级单词)
- consultation [,kɔnsəl´teiʃən] n.商量；会诊；查阅 (英语四级单词)
- inflame [in´fleim] v.(使)发炎；恼火 (英语四级单词)
- speaking [´spi:kiŋ] n.说话 a.发言的 (英语六级单词)
- bluntly [´blʌntli] ad.钝，迟钝地；直率地 (英语六级单词)
- darkly [´dɑ:kli] adv.暗，黑；暗中 (英语六级单词)
- conceited [kən´si:tid] a.自负的；自夸的 (英语六级单词)
- malignant [mə´lignənt] a.恶意的；有害的 (英语六级单词)
- stubbornly [´stʌbənli] ad.顽固地，倔强地 (英语六级单词)
- covert [kʌvət] a.隐藏的 n.隐藏处 (英语六级单词)
- unspeakable [ʌn´spi:kəbl] a.不能以言语表达的 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
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