Gfe LONE
☆
APOM'vNCL Or THE BORDER,
6rZmL GREY I 1.4 ~
AUTHOR OF
“THE LIGHT OF WESTERN
STARS"
"RIDERS OF THE PURPLE
SAGE", ETC.
COPYRIGHT. BY HARPER ATJC BROTHERS
SYNOPSIS.
CTT AFTER ! Ir» AV< llston. Totts. it
becomes with Buckley liimnf a <••;.-• of
fi tit or run frnrn Cal’Rain. I* ante kikls
in.s man and becomes an outlaw.
CHAPTER IT—He meets Luke Stev
ens. an outlaw.
CHAPTER IM -Stevens gn« s into the
town of More r to buy supplies and is
shot by a i anchor. Duane buries him.
C?T APTER TV—Duane goes to Rland’s
ro:f ' u strontrhohj in the Rim K •■•!< u !
tttirir shooting Bosorner. who quarr*ds
to stay thcr* Kio-hr* ta k I -a i x
a partner and tells him about RJand,
the outlaw chief - ri<i bis band.
CII 'TTPR V Duane or 1 i *s rrun
throwing and beats more about Bland
and his gang.
CHAPTER VT Euchre and Pt::in<*
rail on K it«- Bland’s wife, and Jennie, <
a girl whom Benson kidnaped and mid
to Bland.
*
CTT A PTER VTT Enchre and Dm
conspire to take Jennie away. Dually
prevents a wanton murder.
CHAPTER VTTr Mrs. Rind nvil-s
love to Duane and b*- us* her t > fur -
ther his plans. Bland returns from a
trip. H** asks Duane to »in in.- b »d,
1T*‘ Is jealous of Duuie and abuses Kate
and Jennie.
CHAPTER TX—Euchre kill- Renson.
Is killed by Allowav. Duarte kills \*b>
wav and Bland and escapes, woun*!. !.
with Jennie. • In a d*sorted but in th ‘
tneaquite Jennie nurs* s hint.
CHAPTER X—When Du.n- v. , :
enough they travel out <-r ft,.- R !b k
to a rancher’s homo*, whet Im i
covers. On their way in Sb« lb\ •’ •
Jennie is carried off by outlaws wh'le
Duane is away looking for a stray.-d
horse.
CHAPTER XT—After \ Bn - h f-r
Jennie, whose a brim tor In- k ;! Du
leads the lone-wolf lif« for nv * ■ tb n
three years. 11 n a 11 v *r*tt i n u • n • *.•
fr-uu Captain MeNellv of the i tM *>
asking him to come to the captain's
camp after dark.
CHAPTER XTT—The message js sev
eral times repeated. Duane is chased by
a lynching party.
CHAPTER XIII.
v._ How long Duane was traveling out
of that region he never Knew. But he
reached familiar enunlry and found a
rancher who had before la friended
him. Here his arm was attended to;
he had food and sloop ; and in a couple
of weeks he was himself ug' it.
When the time came for Dunne to
ride away on his endless trail his
friend reluctantly imparted the in
formation that some thirty miles s<,u;It.
near the village of Shirley, there was
posted at a certain cross-road a re
ward for Buck Duane dead or alive.
I>uuuo had heard of such mdi.es, hut
he had never seen one. His friend's
reluctance and refusal to state for
what particular deed this reward was
offered roused Duane's curiosity..
Abruptly he decided to ride over there 1
and tind out w ho wanted him dead or j
alive, and why.
Toward afternoon, front the top of
a long hill. Duane saw the green fields
and trees and shining roofs of a town
he considered miM lie Shirley. And a'
the bottom of the hill lit' came upon
an Intersecting mail. There was a
placard nailed on the cross-road sign- j
post. Duane drew rein near it and!
leaned close to read the faded print
‘•ijl.OdO KKW.UiD Ft >U BECK
DI AXE DEAD < >U AUYK.” Peering I
closer to read the liner, more faded
print, Duane learnt d that he was want
ed for the murder of Mrs. .Jeff Allen
at her ranch near Shirley. The month
September was named, hut the dale
was illegible. The reward was offered
by the woman's husband, whose name
appeared with that of a sheriff's at
the bottom of the placard.
Duane road 'In' tiling livin'. When
lie straightened In' was sick with the
horror of his late, wild with passion
at those misguided fools who could
believe that lie laid harmed a woman.
A dark, passionate fury possessed
tiimi. It shook him like a dorm shakes
the oak. Whon'it passed, leaving him
Cold, with clouded brow and piercing
eye, him mind was set. Spurring his
horse, lie rode straight toward tin'
village.
Shirley appeared to he a large, pre
tentious country town. A branch of
some railroad terminated Here. The
main street was wide, bordered by
trees and commodious houses, and
many of the stores were of brick. A
large plaza shaded by giant eotton
wood occupied a central location.
l>uane pulled his running horse and
halted him, plunging and snorting, be
fore a group of idle men who lounged
on benches in the shade of a spread
ing cottonwood. How many times had
Duane seen just that kind of lazy
shirt-sleeved Texas group! Not often,
however, had he seen such placid,
lolling, good natured nu o change their
expression, their attitude so swiftly.
Ilis advent apparently was momentous.
They evidently took him for an un
usual visitor. So far as I Mm tie could
tell, not one of item recognized him,
had a hint of tiis identity.
lie slid off his horse and threw the
bridle.
"i iu l!u<-k Dunne," lie said. “I saw
that placard- nut tlicn* on a sign-pest.
IPs a damn lie! .Smsoimdy imd tins
hum Jeff Aiken. 1 v ; lit lu ■ •« him."
Ilis announcement was taken in ab
solute si d a ice. That was (lie only
effect lie noted, for he avoided looking
at these villagers. The reason was
simple enough: Duane fe't himsetf
overcome \\ 1,11 emotion There were
tears in Ids eyes, lie sat down on a
beneli. put bis elbows on fds knees
and his hands to his tree. Tor on e
he had absolutely sin Concern for his
fate. This ignominy was the last j
straw.
I’lv-eiiily. however, he beeaine ;
aware of some kind of commotion
mom; llm-.,. vill no rs. lie heard |
whispering, low, hoarse voices, ilien
l he shufllc of rapid feel moving away. |
All at oViee a viob nt hand jerked I is
gun from its lujlsier. When luiaue
rose a gaunt man. livid of face, slmk- .
ing like a leaf, confronted him with
his own gun.
‘‘Hands up. iliar. you Buck Duane!"
he roared, waving the gun.
That: appeared to la- the cue for i
pandemonium to tuvak loose. Several
men lay hold of his arms and pinioned
them behind his lack. Uesistance was
useless even it Duane had had the
spirit. One of them (etched his
halter from his sadd! anil with this
they bound him help! vs.
People wei" running now from the
street, the stores, the houses. Old
men, cowboys, clerks, boys, ranchers
came on the trot. The crowd grew.
The increasing clamor began to at
tract wonn n as well as men. A group
of girls ran up, then lmng back in
fright and pity.
1 he presence of cowboys made a
difference. They split up the crowd,
pot to Ihiane, and lay hold of him
with rough, businesslike hands. One
of them lifted his lists and roared at
iht* frenzied mob to full hack, to stop
ihe racket, lie beat them hack into a.
circle; hot ft was some little time be
fore the hubbub (filleted down so a
voice could he heard.
“-shut up will you-nU?” he was
yelling. “Give us a chance to hear
somethin’. Kasy now—soho. There
‘How’n Hell Did You Get His Gun?”
iin't nobody goiu’ to lie hurt. Thot’s
rigilt ; e\ ryliody quiet now. Let's see
what's come off.”
This cowboy, evidently one of
authority, or ut least one of strong
I personality, turned to the gaunt man,
1 , ho still waved Duane's gun.
"Abo, put the gun down,” he said,
i “It might go off. Here, give it to me.
Vow, what's wrong? Who's tills roped
a nt, an' wlitiI s lie done?”
The gaunt fellow, who appeared now
about to collapse, lifted a shaking
band and pointed.
) "That that- feller—he’s Buck
I Duane:” he panted.
Att angry nitirniur ran through the
■.nmumdiug ornud.
"The rope! The rope! Throw It
over a braneh! String him up! ’ cried
an excited villager.
"Abe, how do you know Ibis fellow
Is Bud; Duane?” the cowboy asked,
sharply.
“Whj he said so,” replied the man
called Abe.
••What !" came the exclamation. in
credulously.
“it's a tarnal fact,” tainted Ale,
waving Ids hand Importantly. He
was an eld man and app>a red I » be
carried away wili, the slguitiemiee o(
his deed, “lie like to fid' his boss
right ov*t us all. Then he jumped off.
say- h" was Bnek Dr.ane, an' he want
ed to see Jeff Aiken laid. ’ _
1
This sjh-hcIi caused w second com
moiinn ns noisy though not so enduring
:ts the tirst. \\ ii• -n tin* cowboy. assist
ed by n couple of his mates, had re
st orod order again, sonn'oite had
slipped the noose-end of Dunne's rope
ovt r his Mend.
“I'p with iiim,!” screeched it v.'lld
• veil youth.
'i'ht“ molt surged closer was shoveti
hit'-k by the cowboys.
“Abe. if lie's i’.uek Dunne how’n hell
did you yet hold of his gun?" hlmitly
qu< Tied the cowboy.
"Why—he set down tb:tr—an’ In*
kind of hid his face on his hand. Am’
1 crabbed his gun an’ got the drop oil
him.”
What the cowboy thought of this
was expressed in a laugh. His mates
likewise grinned broadly. Then the
leader turned to Duane.
“Stranger. I reckon you’d hotter
speak up for yourself." lie said.
That stilled the crowd as no com*
maud had done. “I’m i'.uek Duane,
: .1 right," s.iid Duane, quietly. “It was
111 is way—”
The big cowboy seemed 10 vibrate
with it shock. Ail tin* ruddy warmth
left his fnee; his jaw begun to bulge;
l lie corded veins in bis neck stood out
in knots. In an instant he had a hard,
stern, strange loos.. He shot out a
powerful hand that fastened in the
front of I Maine's bloti -e.
“Somethin' qlcer here. Fait if
you're Duane you're sure in had. Any
fool on.lit to know that. Ton menu
it, then?"
i m iniane; yes .iil^J. won t sianil
for llii' blame of things 1 never did.
That's why l :ii here. 1 saw that pla
card (nil ih re offering the reward.
I 'mil now I never was within half a
day s ride of Ihis !o\vn. I'm Mamed
for what I never did. 1 rode in here,
told who I was. asked somebody to
send for .Tell Aiken.” *
‘‘An’ lie n you sof dow n tin’ lot this
old gu\ fbrow your own sun on you?”
queried the cowboy in amazement.
'1 suess tlint's it.” replied Duane.
”\Vt II. it's powerful slran.se. if you're
really Puck Duane what do you want
lo see Aiken for?”
"I wanted to face bim. to tell him I
never harmed his wife.”
"Suppose we send for Aiken an' he
hears you tm’ doesn't believe you;
what then?”
“If lie won't believe me—why. (hen
my case's so bad—I'd be better off
dead."
A momentary silence was broken by
Sibert.
"If this isn't a queer deal! Hoys,
reckon we'd better send for Jeff.'’
‘ Somebody went fer bim. He'll be
cornin' soon,” replied a man.
Duane stood a head tidier than that
circle of curious faces. He gazed out
above anil beyond them. It was in this
way that be elm need to see a number
of women on the outskirts of the
crowd. Some were obi, with hard
faces, like the men. Some were yotmjr
and comely, and most of these seemed
: gitided bv excitement or. distress.
They east fearful, pitying glances up
on Duane ns he stood ihere with that
noose around bis neck. Women were
more human than men. Duane thought,
lie met eyes that dilated, seemed
fascinated at bis gaze, but ware not
averted. It was the old women who
were voluble, loud in expression of
! heir, feelings.
“Thar conies Jeff Aiken now,” called
•i man, loudly.
The crowd shifted and trampled in
eagerness.
l mane saw two nidi coming last,
one of whom, in tho lend, was of stal
wart huihl. Ilo had a aim in his hand,
and his rnannor was that of fierce en
ergy.
The cowboy Ribert thrust open the
lost ling circle of lnon.
"Hold on, .IdV." ho called, and he
blocked the man with the gun. He
spoke so low i inane could not hear
what he said, and his form !.id Aiken's
face. At that juncture the crowd
sjtread out, closed in, and Aiken and
Si hey: were caught in the circle. There
was a pushing forward, a pressing of
many bodies, hoarse cries and Hinging
hands—again the insane tumult was
about to break out- the demand for
an outlaw's blood, th • eall for . wild
justice o\et utod a thousand times be
fore on Texas' bloody soil.
Sibcrt bellowed at the dark en
croaching mass. The cowboys with
him beat find cuffed in vain.
“.It O’, will you listen?" broke in Si
hort, hurriedly, his hands on the other
man’s arm.
Aiken nodded coldly. Duane, who
had seen many men in perfect control
of themseh es under circumstances like
these, n-cotnized the spirit that domi
nated Aiken. He was white, cold,
passion! ss. Tie re were lines of hitter
grief deep round his lips, if Duane
ever felt the meaning of death he felt
it then.
“Sure this ’s your game, Aiken,”
said Sibert. “Hut hen mo a minute.
1 reckon you'd better hold on till you
near what In* has to say."
Then for tin* first time the drawn
faced. hungry-cycil giant turned his
gaze upon Duane. T"h* hud intelligence
which was uni yet subservient to pas
sion. Moreover. In seemed the kind
of man Duane v add care to have
judge him in a critical moment like
this.
"I.isten." stiid Dunce, gravely, with
his eyes steady i * Aiken's. "I'm Buck
Duane, f never lied to any man in my
life. I was forced into outlawry. I've
never had a chance to leave the
country. I ve killed men to save my
own life. I rode thirty miles to-day—
delihi tali to see what this reward
nis, who made It. what f< Win n 1
r* ,ol ilie placard I went sick to tin
bottom of my soul. So I rode in lien
t to find yon to tell you this: I never
, saw Sh’irli \ before to-day. It was ini
i possible for me to have- killed your
i
\V1 re. Last SVptemlmr I was two
hundred niilrs nortl. of here on the
upper Vueees. 1 call prove that. Men
w ho know me w,|l tell you I couldn't
murder a woman. I haven't any idea
'• hy such a dee 1 should he laid at
iuy hands. It’s Just that wild border
gossip. And see here. Aiken. You un
derstand I'm ;t miserable nitirt. I’m
about hrokem I inters. T don't care
any more for life, for anything. If
.1 can't look me in the eyes, man to
man. and believe what I soy—why, hy
(iod ! you can kill me!”
Aiken heaved a great breath.
“I’uck Intone, whether I'm im
press! d or not by what you say need
n't matter. You’ve had accusers,
justly or unjustly, as will soon appear.
The thing is we can prove you in
noeent or guilty. > girl Lucy saw
my wife's assailant.”
He motioned for the crowd < f men
to open up.
“Somebody—von, Sihert—go for
I.ncy. That ’ll settle this thing.”
Duane heard as si man in an ugly
dreatn. The faees around hint, the
hum of voices, ail seemed far off. His
"It Ain’t Him!"
life hung li.v the merest thread. Yet
he did not think of that so much us
nf the brand of a woman-murderer
which might tie soon seated upon
him by a frightened, imaginative child.
Th crowd trooped apart and closed
■ again. Dunne caught a blurred image
of a slight girl clinging to Sibert’s
• hand, lie could not see distinctly.
Aiken lifted the child, whispered sooth
: ingly to her not to be u fra id. Then
lie fetched licr closer (o Dnane.
“I.ucy, ti'll me. Did you ever see
this man before?” asked Aiken, huskily
and low. “Is he the one-—who came
In the house that day—struck you
down and dragged mania—?”
Aiken’s voice failed.
A lightning Hash seemed to clear
Duane's blurred sight. He saw a
pale, sad face and violent eyes fixed
in gloom and horror upon his. No
horrible moment in Duane’s life ever
equaled this one of silence—Of sus
pense.
“It ain’t him!” cried the child.
Then Slbert was flinging tin* noose
off Duane's neck and unwinding the
bonds round liis arms. The spellbound
crowd awoke to hoarse exclamations.
“See then', my locoed gents, how
easy you'd hang the wrong man,”
hurst out the cowbo; . as he made the
rope-end hiss. “You-nll are a lot of
wis - rangers. Paw! haw!”
Ho frood I>uane nml tlmist Iho lumo
handl'd 1 >:ic-k in Duane's holster.
“You Abe, tin re. Heekon you pulled
ii stunt! 1 tut don't try the like again.
And. men. 11! gamble tin-re’s it hell of
it lot of hud work Hint Duane's named
for—which nil In- n -vei- done. Clear
ttway there. Where's Ins boss? Duane,
the road's open out of Shirley.”
Sibert swept tin* gaping watchers
a ode and pressed Duane toward the
horse, which another cowboy held.
Mechanically Duane mounted, felt a
11•'( as he went up. Then the cowboy's
hard face softened in a smile.
“I reckon it a'n't uncivil of me to
say—liit that road quick!” he said,
frankly.
lie led the Inn :, out of the crowd.
Aiken joined hint, and between them
they escorted Duane across the plaza.
The crowd appeared irn sistibly drawn
to follow.
Aiken paused with his big hand on
Duane's lyie .-. In it, unconsciously
probably, he still held toe gun.
“Duane, a word with you," he said.
“I hcli. ve you’re not so black as you’ve
been painted. 1 wish th.-re was time
to say more. T il me Ibis, anyway.
Do you know tile Hang r Captain Mnc
N'elly ?”
“I do not,” replied Duane, in sur
prise.
“1 met him only a week ago over in
(•'airfield." went on Aiken, hurriedly,
j “tie declared you never kill- d my wife.
, 1 didn't bejieve hit i argued with him.
We almost had hard words over it.
1 ,\'ow- I'm sorry. The last thing he
l said was: ‘If you ever see Dimin’
I don’t kill him. S -.id him tnlo my
camp after dark!' He meant some
thing strinre. What 1 can't sav.
Hut he was right, and I was wrong.
If I.ltcv Inal halted an eye I'd have
Killed you. Still, f wouldn't advise you
to hunt tip Mat-Nelly's camp. He's
,never. ! •; believes there's oo
trenehtyj in his new ideas of rang*a
tactics. 1 tell you for all it's worth
: tlood-hy. May (lud help you furl hot
1 as lie did this day !"
Imujih* s;ii«i i;ihmI by jilnl lilt*
[ horsy with Ins spurs. _
“So 1onsr. t” called Sibort, with
flint frnnk smilo breaking warm over
In's brown face; and he held his
sombrero high.
CHAPTER XIV.
When Dunne reached the crossing
of tin- roads the name Fairfield on
the sign-post seemed to be tin- thing
that tipped the oscillating balance of
decision in favor of that direction. If
he had been driven to hunt up .Jeff
Aiken, now he was called to find this
unknown ranger captain. In Duane’s
state of mind clear reasoning, com
mon sense, or keenness were out of
tli * question, lie went because he felt
he was compelled.
Dusk had fallen when he rode into
a town which inquiry discovered to
be Fail field.
There did not appear to be any
camp on the outskirts of the town.
I!ut as Duane sat his horse, peering
around and undecided what further
move to make, lie caught the glint of
tliekering lights through the darkness.
I'ending toward them he saw the mov
ing forms of men and heard horses,
lie advanced naturally, expecting any
moment to he halted.
“Who goes there?” came the sharp
call out of the gloom.
Duane pulled his horse. The gloom
was impenetrable.
“One man—alone," replied Duane.
“What do you want?”
“I'm trying to find the ranger camp.”
“You’ve struck it. What’s your
errand?”
“I want to see Captain MacNelly.”
“Get down and advance. Slow.
Don’t move your hands. It’s dark,
but I can see.”
Duane dismounted, and, lending his
horse, slowly advanced a few juices,
lie saw a dully bright object—a gun—
before he discovered the man who
helii it. A few more steps showed a
dark figure blocking the trail. Here
Dunne halted.
“Here, ranger, understand this. %My
visit Is peaceful—friendly if you’ll let
it be. Mind, I was asked to come
here—after dark.”
Dunne’s clear, penetrating voice
carried far. The listening rangers at :
l he camp-tire heard what he said.
“Ho, Pickens 1 Tell that fellow to
wait,” replied an authoritative voice.
Then a slim figure detached itself
from the dark, moving group at the
camp-fire and hurried nut.
"Hotter he foxy. Cap," shouted a
ranger, in warning.
“Shut up—all of you,” was the re
ply.
This officer, obviously Captain Mac
Nelly, soon joined the two rangers
who were confronting Duane. He had
no fear. He strode straight up to
1 >uane.
“I’m MacNelly,” he said. “If you’re
my man, don’t mention your name—
I yet.”
.VII this seemed strange to Dunne, in
keeping with much that laid happened
lately.
“I met Jeff Aiken to-day,” said
Duane. "He sent me—”
“You’ve met Aiken!” exclaimed
MacNelly, sharp, eager, low. “By all
that’s bully!” Then he appeared to
catch himself, to grow restrained.
“Men. fall back, leave us alone a
moment.”
Tlie rangers slowly withdrew.
“Buck Duane! It’s you?” he
whispered, eagerly.
“Yes.”
“If T give you my word you’ll not
lie arrested—you’ll be treated fairly—
will you come into camp and consult
with me?”
“Certainly.”
“Dunne, I'm sure glad to meet you,”
went on MacNelly; and he extended
his hand.
Amazed and touched, scarcely reallz- !
tug this actuality, Duane gave his hand I
and felt an unmistakable grip of
w itrmlli.
“II doesn't seem natural. Clip!atn
MaeXelly, but I believe I’m glad to
meet you.” said Duane, soberly.
“You will bo. Now we’ll go back to
••amp. Keep your Identity mum for the
present.”
lie led Dunne in the direction of the
camp-fire
“Pickens, go back on duty,” he
ordered, “and, Beeson, you look after
ibis horse."
When Duane got beyond the line
of mesquite, which had hid a good
view of the camp site, he saw a group
of perhaps fifteen rangers sitting
around the fires, near a long, low shed
where horses were feeding, and a
small adobe house at one side.
“We’ve just bad grub, but I’ll see you
got some. Then we’ll talk.” said
MacNell.v. “I’ve taken up temporary
quarters here. Have a rustler job on
hand. Now, when you’ve eaten, come
right into Pm house.”
Duane was hungry, but he hurried
through the ample supper that was
set before him. urged on by curiosity
and astonishment. While eating he
had bent keen eyes around him. After
a first quiet scrutiny the rangers ap
parently paid no more attention to
him. They were all veterans in serv- |
ice— Duane saw tbit—and rugged,
powerful men of iron constitution. |
Despite a g. nerat conversation of
campfire nature, Duane was not de- j
«•«-j\] about the fact that bis advent
laid been an unusual and striking one,
which had caused an undercurrent of
conjecture and even consternation
among them. These rangers were too
well trained to appear openly carious
about their captain’s guest. As it
was, Duane fell a suspense that must
have been due to n hint of his
identity.
i v
Tie was not long in presenting hiin
**e!f at the door of the house,
"<’nine in and have a chair.” said
■VfiieNelly. motioning for the one other
^ m i njmnl of the room to rise. “Leave
us, TtirsseTl, ancl dose the Tioor. t il
be through these reports right off.”
MacNelly sat at a table upon which
was a lamp and various papers. Seen
In the light he was a fine-looking,
soldierly man of about forty years,
dark-haired and dark-eyed, with a
bronzed face, shrewd, stern, strong, yet
not wanting in kindliness. He scanned
hastily over some papers, fussed with
them, and finally put them in enve
lopes. Setiling back in his chair, he
faced Duane, making a vain attempt
to hide what must have been the ful
filment of a long-nourished curiosity.
“Duane, I’ve been hoping for this
for two years,” he began.
Duane smiled a little—a smile that
felt strange on his face. He had never
been much of a talker. And speech
here seemed more than ordinarily diffi
cult.
MacNelly must have felt that.
He looked long and earnestly at
Duane, and his quick, nervous manner
changed to grave thoughtfulness.
“Ever henr from home since you
left Wellston?” he asked, abruptly.
“No,” replied Dunne, sadly.
"That’s tough. I’m glad to he able
to tell you that up to just lately your
mother, sister, uncle—all your folks,
I believe—were well. I’ve kept posted.
But haven’t heard lately.”
Duane averted his face a moment,
hesitated till the swelling left his
throat, and then said, “It’s wortli what
I went through to-day to hear that.”
“I can imagine how you feel about
it. When I was in the war—but let's
get down to the business of this meet
ing.”
llt> pulled his chair close to Duane’s.
“You’ve had word more than once
in the last two years that I wanted lo
see you, why didn’t you hunt me up?”
“I supposed you imagined me one of
those gun-fighters who couldn't take a
dare and expected me to ride up to
your camp and be arrested.”
“That was natural, I suppose.” went
on MacNelly. “You didn't know me,
otherwise you would have come. I’ve
been n long time getting to you. But
(lie nature of my job, ns far as you're
concerned, made me cautious. Duane,
you’re aware of the hard name you
bear all over the Southwest?”
“Once in a while Im jarred Into
realizing,” replied Duane.
“It’s the hardest, barring Murrell
and Oheseldine, on the Texas border.
Itut there’s this difference. Murrell
in his day was known to deserve hi*
infamous name. Oheseldine in his day
also. But I’ve found hundreds of men
in southwest Texas wlio're your
friends, who swear you never com
mitted a crime. The farther south I
get the clearer this becomes. What I
want to know is the truth. Have you
ever done anything criminal? Tell me
€
“Come in and Have a Chair.”
j tHo truth, Duane. It won’t make any
difference in iny plan. Au<l when l
say crime I mean wlmt I would call
crime, or any reasonable Texan."
“That way my hands are clean," re*
| plied Duane.
“You never held up n man, robbed
a store for grub, stole a horse when
you needed him bad—never anything
1 like that?”
“Somehow I always kept out of that,
just when pressed the hardest.”
“Duane, I’m glad!” MacXelly ex
claimed, gripping Duane's hand. “Glad
for your mother's sake! But, all the
same, in spite of this, you are a Texas
outlaw accountable to the state.
You’re perfectly aware that under ex
isting circumstances, if you fell Into
the hands or the law, you’d probably
hang, at least go to jail for a long
term.”
“That's what kept me on the dodge
all these years,” replied Duane.
“Certainly.” MacXell.v's eyes nar
rowed and glittered. The muscles
I along his brown cheeks set hard and
tense. lie leaned elose to Duane,
I laid sinewy, pressing fingers upon
Dunne's knee.
| “Listen to this." he whispered,
hoarsely. “If 1 plnee a pardon in your
hand make you a free, honest cjttren
onee more, elenr your name of infamv,
make your mother, your sister proud
of you—will you swear yourself to a
service, any service I demand of you?”
Duane sat stock still, stunned.
Slowly, more persuasively, with
show of earnest agitation. Captain
MacXelly reiterated Ids stunling
query.
(Continued Next Week, t
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