While Lawson absorbed that shock Longstreth leaned toward him, all of hate and menace in his mien.
'Lawson, you made me what I am,' continued Longstreth. 'I backed you–shielded you. YOU'RE Cheseldine–if the truth is told! Now it's ended. I quit you. I'm done!'
Their gray passion-corded faces were still as stones.
'GENTLEMEN!' Duane called in far-reaching voice as he stepped out. 'YOU'RE BOTH DONE!'
They wheeled to confront Duane.
'Don't move! Not a muscle! Not a finger!' he warned.
Longstreth read what Lawson had not the mind to read. His face turned from gray to ashen.
'What d'ye mean?' yelled Lawson, fiercely, shrilly. It was not in him to obey a command, to see impending death.
All quivering and strung, yet with perfect control, Duane raised his left hand to turn back a lapel of his open vest. The silver star flashed brightly.
Lawson howled like a dog. With barbarous and insane fury, with sheer impotent folly, he swept a clawing hand for his gun. Duane's shot broke his action.
Before Lawson ever tottered, before he loosed the gun, Longstreth leaped behind him, clasped him with left arm, quick as lightning jerked the gun from both clutching fingers and sheath. Longstreth protected himself with the body of the dead man. Duane saw red flashes, puffs of smoke; he heard quick reports. Something stung his left arm. Then a blow like wind, light of sound yet shocking in impact, struck him, staggered him. The hot rend of lead followed the blow. Duane's heart seemed to explode, yet his mind kept extraordinarily clear and rapid.
Duane heard Longstreth work the action of Lawson's gun. He heard the hammer click, fall upon empty shells. Longstreth had used up all the loads in Lawson's gun. He cursed as a man cursed at defeat. Duane waited, cool and sure now. Longstreth tried to lift the dead man, to edge him closer toward the table where his own gun lay. But, considering the peril of exposing himself, he found the task beyond him. He bent peering at Duane under Lawson's arm, which flopped out from his side. Longstreth's eyes were the eyes of a man who meant to kill. There was never any mistaking the strange and terrible light of eyes like those. More than once Duane had a chance to aim at them, at the top of Longstreth's head, at a strip of his side.
Longstreth flung Lawson's body off. But even as it dropped, before Longstreth could leap, as he surely intended, for the gun, Duane covered him, called piercingly to him:
'Don't jump for the gun! Don't! I'll kill you! Sure as God I'll kill you!'
Longstreth stood perhaps ten feet from the table where his gun lay Duane saw him calculating chances. He was game. He had the courage that forced Duane to respect him. Duane just saw him measure the distance to that gun. He was magnificent. He meant to do it. Duane would have to kill him.
'Longstreth, listen,' cried Duane, swiftly. 'The game's up. You're done. But think of your daughter! I'll spare your life–I'll try to get you freedom on one condition. For her sake! I've got you nailed–all the proofs. There lies Lawson. You're alone. I've Morton and men to my aid. Give up. Surrender. Consent to demands, and I'll spare you. Maybe I can persuade MacNelly to let you go free back to your old country. It's for Ray's sake! Her life, perhaps her happiness, can be saved! Hurry, man! Your answer!'
'Suppose I refuse?' he queried, with a dark and terrible earnestness.
'Then I'll kill you in your tracks! You can't move a hand! Your word or death! Hurry, Longstreth! Be a man! For her sake! Quick! Another second now–I'll kill you!'
'All right, Buck Duane, I give my word,' he said, and deliberately walked to the chair and fell into it.
Longstreth looked strangely at the bloody blot on Duane's shoulder.
'There come the girls!' he suddenly exclaimed. 'Can you help me drag Lawson inside? They mustn't see him.'
Duane was facing down the porch toward the court and corrals. Miss Longstreth and Ruth had come in sight, were swiftly approaching, evidently alarmed. The two men succeeded in drawing Lawson into the house before the girls saw him.
'Duane, you're not hard hit?' said Longstreth.
'Reckon not,' replied Duane.
'I'm sorry. If only you could have told me sooner! Lawson, damn him! Always I've split over him!'
'But the last time, Longstreth.'
'Yes, and I came near driving you to kill me, too. Duane, you talked me out of it. For Ray's sake! She'll be in here in a minute. This'll be harder than facing a gun.'
'Hard now. But I hope it'll turn out all right.'
'Duane, will you do me a favor?' he asked, and he seemed shamefaced.
'Sure.'
'Let Ray and Ruth think Lawson shot you. He's dead. It can't matter. Duane, the old side of my life is coming back. It's been coming. It'll be here just about when she enters this room. And, by God, I'd change places with Lawson if I could!'
'Glad you–said that, Longstreth,' replied Duane. 'And sure–Lawson plugged me. It's our secret.'
Just then Ray and Ruth entered the room. Duane heard two low cries, so different in tone, and he saw two white faces. Ray came to his side, She lifted a shaking hand to point at the blood upon his breast. White and mute, she gazed from that to her father.
'Papa!' cried Ray, wringing her hands.
'Don't give way,' he replied, huskily. 'Both you girls will need your nerve. Duane isn't badly hurt. But Floyd is–is dead. Listen. Let me tell it quick. There's been a fight. It–it was Lawson–it was Lawson's gun that shot Duane. Duane let me off. In fact, Ray, he saved me. I'm to divide my property–return so far as possible what I've stolen– leave Texas at once with Duane, under arrest. He says maybe he can get MacNelly, the ranger captain, to let me go. For your sake!'
She stood there, realizing her deliverance, with the dark and tragic glory of her eyes passing from her father to Duane.
'You must rise above this,' said Duane to her. 'I expected this to ruin you. But your father is alive. He will live it down. I'm sure I can promise you he'll be free. Perhaps back there in Louisiana the dishonor will never be known. This country is far from your old home. And even in San Antonio and.Austin a man's evil repute means little. Then the line between a rustler and a rancher is hard to draw in these wild border days. Rustling is stealing cattle, and I once heard a well-known rancher say that all rich cattlemen had done a little stealing Your father drifted out here, and, like a good many others, he succeeded. It's perhaps just as well not to split hairs, to judge him by the law and morality of a civilized country. Some way or other he drifted in with bad men. Maybe a deal that was honest somehow tied his hands. This matter of land, water, a few stray head of stock had to be decided out of court. I'm sure in his case he never realized where he was drifting. Then one thing led to another, until he was face to face with dealing that took on crooked form. To protect himself he bound men to him. And so the gang developed. Many powerful gangs have developed that way out here. He could not control them. He became involved with them. And eventually their dealings became deliberately and boldly dishonest. That meant the inevitable spilling of blood sooner or later, and so he grew into the leader because he was the strongest. Whatever he is to be judged for, I think he could have been infinitely worse.'
Chapter XXIV
On the morning of the twenty-sixth Duane rode into Bradford in time to catch the early train. His wounds did not seriously incapacitate him. Longstreth was with him. And Miss Longstreth and Ruth Herbert would not be left behind. They were all leaving Fairdale for ever. Longstreth had turned over the whole of his property to Morton, who was to divide it as he and his comrades believed just. Duane had left Fairdale with his party by night, passed through Sanderson in the early hours of dawn, and reached Bradford as he had planned.
That fateful morning found Duane outwardly calm, but inwardly he was in a tumult. He wanted to rush to Val Verde. Would Captain MacNelly be there with his rangers, as Duane had planned for them to be? Memory of that tawny Poggin returned with strange passion. Duane had borne hours and weeks and months of waiting, had endured the long hours of the outlaw, but now he had no patience. The whistle of the train made him leap.
It was a fast train, yet the ride seemed slow.
Duane, disliking to face Longstreth and the passengers in the car, changed his seat to one behind his prisoner. They had seldom spoken. Longstreth sat with bowed head, deep in thought. The girls sat in a seat near by and were pale but composed. Occasionally the train halted briefly at a station. The latter half of that ride Duane had
