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The Lone Star Ranger-Part28_Zane Gray(1872-1939)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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There came a pause. The stranger appeared to grow a little

resentful and drew himself up disdainfully.



"Wal, considerin' you-all seem so damn friendly an' oncurious

down here in this Big Bend country, I don't mind sayin' yes--I



am in on the dodge," he replied, with deliberate sarcasm.

"From west of Ord--out El Paso way, mebbe?"



"Sure."

"A-huh! Thet so?" Knell's words cut the air, stilled the room.



"You're from way down the river. Thet's what they say down

there--'on the dodge.' . . . Stranger, you're a liar!"



With swift clink of spur and thump of boot the crowd split,

leaving Knell and the stranger in the center.



Wild breed of that ilk never made a mistake in judging a man's

nerve. Knell had cut out with the trenchant call, and stood



ready. The stranger suddenly lost his every semblance to the

rough and easy character before manifest in him. He became



bronze. That situation seemed familiar to him. His eyes held a

singularpiercing light that danced like a compass-needle.



"Sure I lied," he said; "so I ain't takin' offense at the way

you called me. I'm lookin' to make friends, not enemies. You



don't strike me as one of them four-flushes, achin' to kill

somebody. But if you are--go ahead an' open the ball.... You



see, I never throw a gun on them fellers till they go fer

theirs."



Knell coolly eyed his antagonist, his strange face not changing

in the least. Yet somehow it was evident in his look that here



was metal which rang differently from what he had expected.

Invited to start a fight or withdraw, as he chose, Knell proved



himself big in the manner characteristic of only the genuine

gunman.



"Stranger, I pass," he said, and, turning to the bar, he

ordered liquor.



The tension relaxed, the silence broke, the men filled up the

gap; the incident seemed closed. Jim Fletcher attached himself



to the stranger, and now both respect and friendliness tempered

his asperity.



"Wal, fer want of a better handle I'll call you Dodge," he

said.



"Dodge's as good as any.... Gents, line up again--an' if you

can't be friendly, be careful!"



Such was Buck Duane's debut in the little outlawhamlet of Ord.

Duane had been three months out of the Nueces country. At El



Paso he bought the finest horse he could find, and, armed and

otherwise outfitted to suit him, he had taken to unknown



trails. Leisurely he rode from town to town, village to

village, ranch to ranch, fitting his talk and his occupation to



the impression he wanted to make upon different people whom he

met. He was in turn a cowboy, a rancher, a cattleman, a stock-



buyer, a boomer, a land-hunter; and long before he reached the

wild and inhospitable Ord he had acted the part of an outlaw,



drifting into new territory. He passed on leisurely because he

wanted to learn the lay of the country, the location of



villages and ranches, the work, habit, gossip, pleasures, and

fears of the people with whom he came in contact. The one



subject most impelling to him--outlaws--he never mentioned; but

by talking all around it, sifting the old ranch and cattle



story, he acquired a knowledge calculated to aid his plot. In

this game time was of no moment; if necessary he would take



years to accomplish his task. The stupendous and perilous

nature of it showed in the slow, wary preparation. When he



heard Fletcher's name and faced Knell he knew he had reached

the place he sought. Ord was a hamlet on the fringe of the



grazing country, of doubtfulhonesty, from which, surely,

winding trails led down into that free and never-disturbed



paradise of outlaws--the Big Bend.

Duane made himself agreeable, yet not too much so, to Fletcher



and several other men disposed to talk and drink and eat; and

then, after having a care for his horse, he rode out of town a



couple of miles to a grove he had marked, and there, well

hidden, he prepared to spend the night. This proceeding served



a double purpose--he was safer, and the habit would look well

in the eyes of outlaws, who would be more inclined to see in



him the lone-wolf fugitive.

Long since Duane had fought out a battle with himself, won a



hard-earned victory. His outer life, the action, was much the




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