unworthy of him, and, something striking him as funny, he boomed out a laugh.
“It's not so funny,” I went on. “If you're going to pretend a yellow streak, what else will I think?”
“Pretend?” he repeated.
“Sure. You can't fool me, Morton. I know men of nerve. And here in Pecos they're not any different from those in other places. I say if you show anything like a lack of sand it's all bluff.
“By nature you've got nerve. There are a lot of men round Linrock who're afraid of their shadows, afraid to be out after dark, afraid to open their mouths. But you're not one.
“So, I say, if you claim these rustlers will last, you're pretending lack of nerve just to help the popular idea along. For they can't last.
“Morton, I don't want to be a hard-riding cowboy all my days. Do you think I'd let fear of a gang of rustlers stop me from going in business with a rancher? Nit! What you need out here in Pecos is some new blood—a few youngsters like me to get you old guys started. Savvy what I mean?”
“Wal, I reckon I do,” he replied, looking as if a storm had blown over him.
I gauged the hold the rustler gang had on Linrock by the difficult job it was to stir this really courageous old cattleman. He had grown up with the evil. To him it must have been a necessary one, the same as dry seasons and cyclones.
“Russ, I'll look you up the next time I come to town,” he said soberly.
We parted, and I, more than content with the meeting, retraced my steps down street to the Hope So saloon.
Here I entered, bent on tasks as sincere as the ones just finished, but displeasing, because I had to mix with a low, profane set, to cultivate them, to drink occasionally despite my deftness at emptying glasses on the floor, to gamble with them and strangers, always playing the part of a flush and flashy cowboy, half drunk, ready to laugh or fight.
On the night of the fifth day after Steele's departure, I went, as was my habit, to the rendezvous we maintained at the pile of rocks out in the open.
The night was clear, bright starlight, without any moon, and for this latter fact safer to be abroad. Often from my covert I had seen dark figures skulking in and out of Linrock.
It would have been interesting to hold up these mysterious travelers; so far, however, this had not been our game. I had enough to keep my own tracks hidden, and my own comings and goings.
I liked to be out in the night, with the darkness close down to the earth, and the feeling of a limitless open all around. Not only did I listen for Steele's soft step, but for any sound—the yelp of coyote or mourn of wolf, the creak of wind in the dead brush, the distant clatter of hoofs, a woman's singing voice faint from the town.
This time, just when I was about to give up for that evening, Steele came looming like a black giant long before I heard his soft step. It was good to feel his grip, even if it hurt, because after five days I had begun to worry.
“Well, old boy, how's tricks?” he asked easily.
“Well, old man, did you land that son of a gun in jail?”
“You bet I did. And he'll stay there for a while. Del Rio rather liked the idea, Russ. All right there. I side- stepped Sanderson on the way back. But over here at the little village—Sampson they call it—I was held up. Couldn't help it, because there wasn't any road around.”
“Held up?” I queried.
“That's it, the buckboard was held up. I got into the brush in time to save my bacon. They began to shoot too soon.”
“Did you get any of them?”
“Didn't stay to see,” he chuckled. “Had to hoof it to Linrock, and it's a good long walk.”
“Been to your 'dobe yet to-night?”
“I slipped in at the back. Russ, it bothered me some to make sure no one was laying for me in the dark.”
“You'll have to get a safer place. Why not take to the open every night?”
“Russ, that's well enough on a trail. But I need grub, and I've got to have a few comforts. I'll risk the 'dobe yet a little.”
Then I narrated all that I had seen and done and heard during his absence, holding back one thing. What I did tell him sobered him at once, brought the quiet, somber mood, the thoughtful air.
“So that's all. Well, it's enough.”
“All pertaining to our job, Vaughn,” I replied. “The rest is sentiment, perhaps. I had a pretty bad case of moons over the little Langdon girl. But we quarreled. And it's ended now. Just as well, too, because if she'd....”
“Russ, did you honestly care for her? The real thing, I mean?”
“I—I'm afraid so. I'm sort of hurt inside. But, hell! There's one thing sure, a love affair might have hindered me, made me soft. I'm glad it's over.”
He said no more, but his big hand pressing on my knee told me of his sympathy, another indication that there was nothing wanting in this Ranger.
“The other thing concerns you,” I went on, somehow reluctant now to tell this. “You remember how I heard Wright making you out vile to Miss Sampson? Swore you'd never come back? Well, after he had gone, when Sally said he'd meant you'd be killed, Miss Sampson felt bad about it. She said she ought to be glad if someone killed you,
