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trips, takin' Alloway an' some others. But his other man, Rugg, he's here. See
him standin' with them three fellers, all close to Benson. Rugg's the little
bow-legged man with the half of his face shot off. He's one-eyed. But he can
shore see out of the one he's got. An', darn me! there's Hardin. You know him?
He's got an outlaw gang as big as Bland's. Hardin is standin' next to Benson.
See how quiet an' unassumin' he looks. Yes, thet's Hardin. He comes here once
in a while to see Bland. They're friends, which's shore strange. Do you see
thet greaser there the one with gold an' lace on his sombrero? Thet's Manuel,
a Mexican bandit. He's a great gambler. Comes here often to drop his coin.
Next to him is Bill Marr the feller with the bandana round his head. Bill rode
in the other day with some fresh bullet-holes. He's been shot more'n any
feller I ever heard of. He's full of lead. Funny, because Bill's no
troublehunter, an', like me, he'd rather run than shoot. But he's the best
rustler Bland's got a grand rider, an' a wonder with cattle. An' see the
tow-headed youngster. Thet's Kid Fuller, the kid of Bland's gang. Fuller has
hit the pace hard, an' he won't last the year out on the border. He killed his
sweetheart's father, got run out of Staceytown, took to stealin' hosses. An'
next he's here with Bland. Another boy gone wrong, an' now shore a hard nut."
Euchre went on calling Duane's attention to other men, just as he happened
to glance over them. Any one of them would have been a marked man in a
respectable crowd. Here each took his place with more or less distinction,
according to the record of his past wild prowess and his present
possibilities. Duane, realizing that he was tolerated there, received in
careless friendly spirit by this terrible class of outcasts, experienced a
feeling of revulsion that amounted almost to horror. Was his being there not
an ugly dream? What had he in common with such ruffians? Then in a flash of
memory came the painful proof he was a criminal in sight of Texas law; he,
too, was an outcast.
For the moment Duane was wrapped up in painful reflections; but Euchre's
heavy hand, clapping with a warning hold on his arm, brought him back to
outside things.
The hum of voices, the clink of coin, the loud laughter had ceased. There
was a silence that manifestly had followed some unusual word or action
sufficient to still the room. It was broken by a harsh curse and the scrape of
a bench on the floor. Some man had risen.
"You stacked the cards, you !"
"Say that twice," another voice replied, so different in its cool, ominous
tone from the other.
"I'll say it twice," returned the first gamester, in hot haste. "I'll say it
three times. I'll whistle it. Are you deaf? You light-fingered gent! You
stacked the cards!"
Silence ensued, deeper than before, pregnant with meaning. For all that
Duane saw, not an outlaw moved for a full moment. Then suddenly the room was
full of disorder as men rose and ran and dived everywhere.
"Run or duck!" yelled Euchre, close to Duane's ear. With that he dashed for
the door. Duane leaped after him. They ran into a jostling mob. Heavy
gun-shots and hoarse yells hurried the crowd Duane was with pell-mell out into
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the darkness. There they all halted, and several peeped in at the door.
"Who was the Kid callin'?" asked one outlaw.
"Bud Marsh," replied another.
"I reckon them fust shots was Bud's. Adios Kid. It was comin' to him," went
on yet another.
"How many shots?"
"Three or four, I counted."
"Three heavy an' one light. Thet light one was the Kid's .38. Listen!
There's the Kid hollerin' now. He ain't cashed, anyway."
At this juncture most of the outlaws began to file back into the room. Duane
thought he had seen and heard enough in Benson's den for one night and he
started slowly down the walk. Presently Euchre caught up with him.
"Nobody hurt much, which's shore some strange," he said. "The Kid young
Fuller thet I was tellin' you about he was drinkin' an' losin'. Lost his nut,
too, callin' Bud Marsh thet way. Bud's as straight at cards as any of 'em.
Somebody grabbed Bud, who shot into the roof. An' Fuller's arm was knocked up.
He only hit a greaser."
Chapter VI
Next morning Duane found that a moody and despondent spell had fastened on
him. Wishing to be alone, he went out and walked a trail leading round the
river bluff. He thought and thought. After a while he made out that the
trouble with him probably was that he could not resign himself to his fate. He
abhorred the possibility chance seemed to hold in store for him. He could not
believe there was no hope. But what to do appeared beyond his power to tell.
Duane had intelligence and keenness enough to see his peril the danger
threatening his character as a man, just as much as that which threatened his
life. He cared vastly more, he discovered, for what he considered honor and
integrity than he did for life. He saw that it was bad for him to be alone.
But, it appeared, lonely months and perhaps years inevitably must be his.
Another thing puzzled him. In the bright light of day he could not recall the
state of mind that was his at twilight or dusk or in the dark night. By day
these visitations became to him what they really were phantoms of his
conscience. He could dismiss the thought of them then. He could scarcely
remember or believe that this strange feat of fancy or imagination had
troubled him, pained him, made him sleepless and sick.
That morning Duane spent an unhappy hour wrestling decision out of the
unstable condition of his mind. But at length he determined to create interest
in all that he came across and so forget himself as much as possible. He had
an opportunity now to see just what the outlaw's life really was. He meant to
force himself to be curious, sympathetic, clear-sighted. And he would stay
there in the valley until its possibilities had been exhausted or until
circumstances sent him out upon his uncertain way.
When he returned to the shack Euchre was cooking dinner.
"Say, Buck, I've news for you," he said; and his tone conveyed either pride
in his possession of such news or pride in Duane. "Feller named Bradley rode
in this mornin'. He's heard some about you. Told about the ace of spades they
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put over the bullet holes in thet cowpuncher Bain you plugged. Then there was
a rancher shot at a water-hole twenty miles south of Wellston. Reckon you
didn't do it?"
"No, I certainly did not," replied Duane.
"Wal, you get the blame. It ain't nothin' for a feller to be saddled with
gun-plays he never made. An', Buck, if you ever get famous, as seems likely,
you'll be blamed for many a crime. The border'll make an outlaw an' murderer
out of you. Wal, thet's enough of thet. I've more news. You're goin' to be
popular."
"Popular? What do you mean?"
"I met Bland's wife this mornin'. She seen you the other day when you rode
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