Zane Grey - The Rustlers of Pecos County

“Exactly. That's the toughest part....” Wright ended abruptly, and then broke out fiercely: “But, by God, he'll never come back!”

Wright's slow pacing quickened and he strode from the parlor, leaving behind him a silence eloquent of the effect of his sinister prediction.

“Sally, what did he mean?” asked Diane in a low voice.

“Steele will be killed,” replied Sally, just as low-voiced.

“Killed! That magnificent fellow! Ah, I forgot. Sally, my wits are sadly mixed. I ought to be glad if somebody kills my father's defamer. But, oh, I can't be!

“This bloody frontier makes me sick. Papa doesn't want me to stay for good. And no wonder. Shall I go back? I hate to show a white feather.

“Do you know, Sally, I was—a little taken with this Texas Ranger. Miserably, I confess. He seemed so like in spirit to the grand stature of him. How can so splendid a man be so bloody, base at heart? It's hideous. How little we know of men! I had my dream about Vaughn Steele. I confess because it shames me—because I hate myself!”

Next morning I awakened with a feeling that I was more like my old self. In the experience of activity of body and mind, with a prospect that this was merely the forerunner of great events, I came round to my own again.

Sally was not forgotten; she had just become a sorrow. So perhaps my downfall as a lover was a precursor of better results as an officer.

I held in abeyance my last conclusion regarding Sampson and Wright, and only awaited Steele's return to have fixed in mind what these men were.

Wright's remark about Steele not returning did not worry me. I had heard many such dark sayings in reference to Rangers.

Rangers had a trick of coming back. I did not see any man or men on the present horizon of Linrock equal to the killing of Steele.

As Miss Sampson and Sally had no inclination to ride, I had even more freedom. I went down to the town and burst, cheerily whistling, into Jim Hoden's place.

Jim always made me welcome there, as much for my society as for the money I spent, and I never neglected being free with both. I bought a handful of cigars and shoved some of them in his pocket.

“How's tricks, Jim?” I asked cheerily.

“Reckon I'm feelin' as well as could be expected,” replied Jim. His head was circled by a bandage that did not conceal the lump where he had been struck. Jim looked a little pale, but he was bright enough.

“That was a hell of a biff Snell gave you, the skunk,” I remarked with the same cheery assurance.

“Russ, I ain't accusin' Snell,” remonstrated Jim with eyes that made me thoughtful.

“Sure, I know you're too good a sport to send a fellow up. But Snell deserved what he got. I saw his face when he made his talk to Sampson's court. Snell lied. And I'll tell you what, Jim, if it'd been me instead of that Ranger, Bud Snell would have got settled.”

Jim appeared to be agitated by my forcible intimation of friendship.

“Jim, that's between ourselves,” I went on. “I'm no fool. And much as I blab when I'm hunky, it's all air. Maybe you've noticed that about me. In some parts of Texas it's policy to be close-mouthed. Policy and healthy. Between ourselves, as friends, I want you to know I lean some on Steele's side of the fence.”

As I lighted a cigar I saw, out of the corner of my eye, how Hoden gave a quick start. I expected some kind of a startling idea to flash into his mind.

Presently I turned and frankly met his gaze. I had startled him out of his habitual set taciturnity, but even as I looked the light that might have been amaze and joy faded out of his face, leaving it the same old mask.

Still I had seen enough. Like a bloodhound, I had a scent. “Thet's funny, Russ, seein' as you drift with the gang Steele's bound to fight,” remarked Hoden.

“Sure. I'm a sport. If I can't gamble with gentlemen I'll gamble with rustlers.”

Again he gave a slight start, and this time he hid his eyes.

“Wal, Russ, I've heard you was slick,” he said.

“You tumble, Jim. I'm a little better on the draw.”

“On the draw? With cards, an' gun, too, eh?”

“Now, Jim, that last follows natural. I haven't had much chance to show how good I am on the draw with a gun. But that'll come soon.”

“Reckon thet talk's a little air,” said Hoden with his dry laugh. “Same as you leanin' a little on the Ranger's side of the fence.”

“But, Jim, wasn't he game? What'd you think of that stand? Bluffed the whole gang! The way he called Sampson—why, it was great! The justice of that call doesn't bother me. It was Steele's nerve that got me. That'd warm any man's blood.”

There was a little red in Hoden's pale cheeks and I saw him swallow hard. I had struck deep again.

“Say, don't you work for Sampson?” he queried.

“Me? I guess not. I'm Miss Sampson's man. He and Wright have tried to fire me many a time.”

“Thet so?” he said curiously. “What for?”

“Too many silver trimmings on me, Jim. And I pack my gun low down.”

“Wal, them two don't go much together out here,” replied Hoden. “But I ain't seen thet anyone has shot off the trimmin's.”

“Maybe it'll commence, Jim, as soon as I stop buying drinks. Talking about work—who'd you say Snell worked for?”

“I didn't say.”

“Well, say so now, can't you? Jim, you're powerful peevish to-day. It's the bump on your head. Who does Snell work for?”

“When he works at all, which sure ain't often, he rides for Sampson.”

“Humph! Seems to me, Jim, that Sampson's the whole circus round Linrock. I was some sore the other day to find I was losing good money at Sampson's faro game. Sure if I'd won I wouldn't have been sorry, eh? But I was surprised to hear some scully say Sampson owned the Hope So dive.”

“I've heard he owned considerable property hereabouts,” replied Jim constrainedly.

“Humph again! Why, Jim, you know it, only like every other scully you meet in this town, you're afraid to open your mug about Sampson. Get me straight, Jim Hoden. I don't care a damn for Colonel Mayor Sampson. And for cause I'd throw a gun on him just as quick as on any rustler in Pecos.”

“Talk's cheap, my boy,” replied Hoden, making light of my bluster, but the red was deep in his face.

“Sure, I know that,” I said, calming down. “My temper gets up, Jim. Then it's not well known that Sampson owns the Hope So?”

“Reckon it's known in Pecos, all right. But Sampson's name isn't connected with the Hope So. Blandy runs the place.”

“That Blandy—I've got no use for him. His faro game's crooked, or I'm locoed bronc. Not that we don't have lots of crooked faro dealers. A fellow can stand for them. But Blandy's mean, back handed, never looks you in the eyes. That Hope So place ought to be run by a good fellow like you, Hoden.”

“Thanks, Russ,” replied he, and I imagined his voice a little husky. “Didn't you ever hear I used to run it?”

“No. Did you?” I said quickly.

“I reckon. I built the place, made additions twice, owned it for eleven years.”

“Well, I'll be doggoned!”

It was indeed my turn to be surprised, and with the surprise came glimmering.

“I'm sorry you're not there now, Jim. Did you sell out?”

“No. Just lost the place.”

Hoden was bursting for relief now—to talk—to tell. Sympathy had made him soft. I did not need to ask another question.

“It was two years ago—two years last March,” he went on. “I was in a big cattle deal with Sampson. We got the stock, an' my share, eighteen hundred head, was rustled off. I owed Sampson. He pressed me. It come to a lawsuit, an' I—was ruined.”

It hurt me to look at Hoden. He was white, and tears rolled down his cheeks.