she asked seriously. “I heard papa say that he was the law in Linrock. Perhaps he resents interference. I know he'll not tolerate any opposition to his will. Please tell me. I may be able to influence him.”
I listened to Steele's deep voice as he talked about Linrock. What he said was old to me, and I gave heed only to its effect.
Miss Sampson's expression, which at first had been earnest and grave, turned into one of incredulous amaze. She, and Sally too, watched Steele's face in fascinated attention.
When it came to telling what he wanted to do, the Ranger warmed to his subject; he talked beautifully, convincingly, with a certain strange, persuasive power that betrayed how he worked his way; and his fine face, losing its stern, hard lines, seemed to glow and give forth a spirit austere, yet noble, almost gentle, assuredly something vastly different from what might have been expected in the expression of a gun-fighting Ranger. I sensed that Miss Sampson felt this just as I did.
“Papa said you were a hounder of outlaws—a man who'd rather kill than save!” she exclaimed.
The old stern cast returned to Steele's face. It was as if he had suddenly remembered himself.
“My name is infamous, I am sorry to say,” he replied.
“You have killed men?” she asked, her dark eyes dilating.
Had any one ever dared ask Steele that before? His face became a mask. It told truth to me, but she could not see, and he did not answer.
“Oh, you are above that. Don't—don't kill any one here!”
“Miss Sampson, I hope I won't.” His voice seemed to check her. I had been right in my estimate of her character—young, untried, but all pride, fire, passion. She was white then, and certainly beautiful.
Steele watched her, could scarcely have failed to see the white gleam of her beauty, and all that evidence of a quick and noble heart.
“Pardon me, please, Mr. Steele,” she said, recovering her composure. “I am—just a little overexcited. I didn't mean to be inquisitive. Thank you for your confidence. I've enjoyed your call, though your news did distress me. You may rely upon me to talk to papa.”
That appeared to be a dismissal, and, bowing to her and Sally, the Ranger went out. I followed, not having spoken.
At the end of the porch I caught up with Steele and walked out into the moonlight beside him.
Just why I did not now reveal my identity I could not say, for certainly I was bursting with the desire to surprise him, to earn his approval. He loomed dark above me, appearing not to be aware of my presence. What a cold, strange proposition this Ranger was!
Still, remembering the earnestness of his talk to Miss Sampson, I could not think him cold. But I must have thought him so to any attraction of those charming girls.
Suddenly, as we passed under the shade of cottonwoods, he clamped a big hand down on my shoulder.
“My God, Russ, isn't she lovely!” he ejaculated.
In spite of my being dumbfounded I had to hug him. He knew me!
“Thought you didn't swear!” I gasped.
Ridiculously those were my first words to Vaughn Steele.
“My boy, I saw you parading up and down the street looking for me,” he said. “I intended to help you find me to-morrow.”
We gripped hands, and that strong feel and clasp meant much.
“Yes, she's lovely, Steele,” I said. “But did you look at the cousin, the little girl with the eyes?”
Then we laughed and loosed hands.
“Come on, let's get out somewhere. I've a million things to tell you.”
We went away out into the open where some stones gleamed white in the moonlight, and there, sitting in the sand, our backs against a rest, and with all quiet about us, we settled down for a long conference.
I began with Neal's urgent message to me, then told of my going to the capitol—what I had overheard when Governor Smith was in the adjutant's office; of my interview with them; of the spying on Colonel Sampson; Neal's directions, advice, and command; the ride toward San Antonio; my being engaged as cowboy by Miss Sampson; of the further ride on to Sanderson and the incident there; and finally how I had approached Sampson and then had thought it well to get his daughter into the scheme of things.
It was a long talk, even for me, and my voice sounded husky.
“I told Neal I'd be lucky to get you,” said Steele, after a silence.
That was the only comment on my actions, the only praise, but the quiet way he spoke it made me feel like a boy undeserving of so much.
“Here, I forgot the money Neal sent,” I went on, glad to be rid of the huge roll of bills.
The Ranger showed surprise. Besides, he was very glad.
“The Captain loves the service,” said Steele. “He alone knows the worth of the Rangers. And the work he's given his life to—the
I assented, gloomily enough. Then I waited while he pondered.
The moon soared clear; there was a cool wind rustling the greasewood; a dog bayed a barking coyote; lights twinkled down in the town.
