The Rustlers of Pecos County

Sampson said something in an undertone to Judge Owens, and that worthy nodded his great, bushy head.

“Bud, you're discharged,” said Sampson bluntly. “Now, the rest of you clear out of here.”

He absolutely ignored the Ranger. That was his rebuff to Steele's advances, his slap in the face to an interfering Ranger Service.

If Sampson was crooked he certainly had magnificent nerve. I almost decided he was above suspicion. But his nonchalance, his air of finality, his authoritative assurance—these to my keen and practiced eyes were in significant contrast to a certain tenseness of line about his mouth and a slow paling of his olive skin.

He had crossed the path of Vaughn Steele; he had blocked the way of this Texas Ranger. If he had intelligence and remembered Steele's fame, which surely he had, then he had some appreciation of what he had undertaken.

In that momentary lull my scrutiny of Sampson gathered an impression of the man's intense curiosity.

Then Bud Snell, with a cough that broke the silence, shuffled a couple of steps toward the door.

“Hold on!” called Steele.

It was a bugle-call. It halted Snell as if it had been a bullet. He seemed to shrink.

“Sampson, Isaw Snell attack Hoden,” said Steele, his voice still ringing. “What has the court to say to that?”

The moment for open rupture between Ranger Service and Sampson's idea of law was at hand. Sampson showed not the slightest hesitation.

“The court has to say this: West of the Pecos we'll not aid or abet or accept any Ranger Service. Steele, we don't want you out here. Linrock doesn't need you.”

“That's a lie, Sampson,” retorted Steele. “I've a pocket full of letters from Linrock citizens, all begging for Ranger Service.”

Sampson turned white. The veins corded at his temples. He appeared about to burst into rage. He was at a loss for a quick reply.

Steele shook a long arm at the mayor.

“I need your help. You refuse. Now, I'll work alone. This man Snell goes to Del Rio in irons.”

George Wright rushed up to the table. The blood showed black and thick in his face; his utterance was incoherent, his uncontrollable outbreak of temper seemed out of all proportion to any cause he should reasonably have had for anger.

Sampson shoved him back with a curse and warning glare.

“Where's your warrant to arrest Snell?” shouted Sampson. “I won't give you one. You can't take him without a warrant.”

“I don't need warrants to make arrests. Sampson, you're ignorant of the power of Texas Rangers.”

“You'll take Snell without papers?” bellowed Sampson.

“He goes to Del Rio to jail,” answered Steele.

“He won't. You'll pull none of your damned Ranger stunts out here. I'll block you, Steele.”

That passionate reply of Sampson's appeared to be the signal Steele had been waiting for.

He had helped on the crisis. I believed I saw how he wanted to force Sampson's hand and show the town his stand.

Steele backed clear of everybody and like two swift flashes of light his guns leaped forth. He was transformed. My wish was fulfilled.

Here was Steele, the Ranger, in one of his lone lion stands. Not exactly alone either, for my hands itched for my guns!

“Men! I call on you all!” cried Steele, piercingly. “I call on you to witness the arrest of a criminal opposed by Sampson, mayor of Linrock. It will be recorded in the report sent to the Adjutant General at Austin. Sampson, I warn you—don't follow up your threat.”

Sampson sat white with working jaw.

“Snell, come here,” ordered Steele.

The man went as if drawn and appeared to slink out of line with the guns. Steele's cold gray glance held every eye in the hall.

“Take the handcuffs out of my pocket. This side. Go over to Gorsech with them. Gorsech, snap those irons on Snell's wrists. Now, Snell, back here to the right of me.”

It was no wonder to me to see how instantly Steele was obeyed. He might have seen more danger in that moment than was manifest to me; on the other hand he might have wanted to drive home hard what he meant.

It was a critical moment for those who opposed him. There was death in the balance.

This Ranger, whose last resort was gun-play, had instantly taken the initiative, and his nerve chilled even me. Perhaps though, he read this crowd differently from me and saw that intimidation was his cue. I forgot I was not a spectator, but an ally.

“Sampson, you've shown your hand,” said Steele, in the deep voice that carried so far and held those who heard. “Any honest citizen of Linrock can now see what's plain—yours is a damn poor hand!