presently recovered the property of the other men. Joel helped the innkeeper carry the injured man somewhere outside.
Miss Longstreth was sitting white but composed upon the couch, where lay Miss Ruth, who evidently had been carried there by the Colonel. Duane did not think she had wholly lost consciousness, and now she lay very still, with eyes dark and shadowy, her face pallid and wet. The Colonel, now that he finally remembered his women-folk, seemed to be gentle and kind. He talked soothingly to Miss Ruth, made light of the adventure, said she must learn to have nerve out here where things happened.
'Can I be of any service?' asked Duane, solicitously.
'Thanks; I guess there's nothing you can do. Talk to these frightened girls while I go see what's to be done with that thick-skulled robber,' he replied, and, telling the girls that there was no more danger, he went out.
Miss Longstreth sat with one hand holding her torn waist in place; the other she extended to Duane. He took it awkwardly, and he felt a strange thrill.
'You saved my life,' she said, in grave, sweet seriousness.
'No, no!' Duane exclaimed. 'He might have struck you, hurt you, but no more.'
'I saw murder in his eyes. He thought I had jewels under my dress. I couldn't bear his touch. The beast! I'd have fought. Surely my life was in peril.'
'Did you kill him?' asked Miss Ruth, who lay listening.
'Oh no. He's not badly hurt.'
'I'm very glad he's alive,' said Miss Longstreth, shuddering.
'My intention was bad enough,' Duane went on. 'It was a ticklish place for me. You see, he was half drunk, and I was afraid his gun might go off. Fool careless he was!'
'Yet you say you didn't save me,' Miss Longstreth returned, quickly.
'Well, let it go at that,' Duane responded. 'I saved you something.'
'Tell me all about it?' asked Miss Ruth, who was fast recovering.
Rather embarrassed, Duane briefly told the incident from his point of view.
'Then you stood there all the time with your hands up thinking of nothing–watching for nothing except a little moment when you might draw your gun?' asked Miss Ruth.
'I guess that's about it,' he replied.
'Cousin,' said Miss Longstreth, thoughtfully, 'it was fortunate for us that this gentleman happened to be here. Papa scouts–laughs at danger. He seemed to think there was no danger. Yet he raved after it came.'
'Go with us all the way to Fairdale–please?' asked Miss Ruth, sweetly offering her hand. 'I am Ruth Herbert. And this is my cousin, Ray Longstreth.'
'I'm traveling that way,' replied Duane, in great confusion. He did not know how to meet the situation.
Colonel Longstreth returned then, and after bidding Duane a good night, which seemed rather curt by contrast to the graciousness of the girls, he led them away.
Before going to bed Duane went outside to take a look at the injured robber and perhaps to ask him a few questions. To Duane's surprise, he was gone, and so was his horse. The innkeeper was dumfounded. He said that he left the fellow on the floor in the bar-room.
'Had he come to?' inquired Duane.
'Sure. He asked for whisky.'
'Did he say anything else?'
'Not to me. I heard him talkin' to the father of them girls.'
'You mean Colonel Longstreth?'
'I reckon. He sure was some riled, wasn't he? Jest as if I was to blame fer that two-bit of a hold-up!'
'What did you make of the old gent's rage?' asked Duane, watching the innkeeper. He scratched his head dubiously. He was sincere, and Duane believed in his honesty.
'Wal, I'm doggoned if I know what to make of it. But I reckon he's either crazy or got more nerve than most Texans.'
'More nerve, maybe,' Duane replied. 'Show me a bed now, innkeeper.'
Once in bed in the dark, Duane composed himself to think over the several events of the evening. He called up the details of the holdup and carefully revolved them in mind. The Colonel's wrath, under circumstances where almost any Texan would have been cool, nonplussed Duane, and he put it down to a choleric temperament. He pondered long on the action of the robber when Longstreth's bellow of rage burst in upon him. This ruffian, as bold and mean a type as Duane had ever encountered, had, from some cause or other, been startled. From whatever point Duane viewed the man's strange indecision he could come to only one conclusion–his start, his check, his fear had been that of recognition. Duane compared this effect with the suddenly acquired sense he had gotten of Colonel Longstreth's powerful personality. Why had that desperate robber lowered his gun and stood paralyzed at sight and sound of the Mayor of Fairdale? This was not answerable. There might have been a number of reasons, all to Colonel Longstreth's credit, but Duane could not understand. Longstreth had not appeared to see danger for his daughter, even though she had been roughly handled, and had advanced in front of a cocked gun. Duane probed deep into this singular fact, and he brought to bear on the thing all his knowledge and experience of violent Texas life. And he found that the instant Colonel Longstreth had appeared on the scene there was no further danger threatening his daughter. Why? That likewise Duane could not answer. Then his rage, Duane concluded, had been solely at the idea of HIS daughter being assaulted by a robber. This deduction was indeed a thought-disturber, but Duane put it aside to crystallize and for more careful consideration.
Next morning Duane found that the little town was called Sanderson. It was larger than he had at first supposed. He walked up the main street and back again. Just as he arrived some horsemen rode up to the inn and dismounted. And at this juncture the Longstreth party came out. Duane heard Colonel Longstreth utter an exclamation. Then he saw him shake hands with a tall man. Longstreth looked surprised and angry, and he spoke with force; but Duane could not hear what it was he said. The fellow laughed, yet somehow he struck Duane as sullen, until suddenly he espied Miss Longstreth. Then his face changed, and he removed his sombrero. Duane went closer.
'Floyd, did you come with the teams?' asked Longstreth, sharply.
'Not me. I rode a horse, good and hard,' was the reply.
'Humph! I'll have a word to say to you later.' Then Longstreth turned to his daughter. 'Ray, here's the cousin I've told you about. You used to play with him ten years ago–Floyd Lawson. Floyd, my daughter–and my niece, Ruth Herbert.'
Duane always scrutinized every one he met, and now with a dangerous game to play, with a consciousness of Longstreth's unusual and significant personality, he bent a keen and searching glance upon this Floyd Lawson.
He was under thirty, yet gray at his temples–dark, smooth-shaven, with lines left by wildness, dissipation, shadows under dark eyes, a mouth strong and bitter, and a square chin–a reckless, careless, handsome, sinister face strangely losing the hardness when he smiled. The grace of a gentleman clung round him, seemed like an echo in his mellow voice. Duane doubted not that he, like many a young man, had drifted out to the frontier, where rough and wild life had wrought sternly but had not quite effaced the mark of good family.
Colonel Longstreth apparently did not share the pleasure of his daughter and his niece in the advent of this cousin. Something hinged on this meeting. Duane grew intensely curious, but, as the stage appeared ready for the journey, he had no further opportunity to gratify it.
Chapter XVI
Duane followed the stage through the town, out into the open, on to a wide, hard-packed road showing years of travel. It headed northwest. To the left rose a range of low, bleak mountains he had noted yesterday, and to the right sloped the mesquite-patched sweep of ridge and flat. The driver pushed his team to a fast trot, which gait surely covered ground rapidly.
The stage made three stops in the forenoon, one at a place where the horses could be watered, the second at a chuck-wagon belonging to cowboys who were riding after stock, and the third at a small cluster of adobe and stone houses constituting a hamlet the driver called Longstreth, named after the Colonel. From that point on to Fairdale there were only a few ranches, each one controlling great acreage.
Early in the afternoon from a ridge-top Duane sighted Fairdale, a green patch in the mass of gray. For the barrens of Texas it was indeed a fair sight. But he was more concerned with its remoteness from civilization than
