by Zane Grey
“Mr. Steele, I’m pleased to meet you,” said Miss Sampson. “This is my cousin, Sally Langdon. We just arrived—I to make this my home, she to visit me.”
Steele smiled as he bowed to Sally. He was easy, with a kind of rude grace, and showed no sign of embarrassment or that beautiful girls were unusual to him.
“Mr. Steele, we’ve heard of you in Austin,” said Sally with her eyes misbehaving.
I hoped I would not have to be jealous of Steele. But this girl was a little minx if not altogether a flirt.
“I did not expect to be received by ladies,” replied Steele. “I called upon Mr. Sampson. He would not see me. I was to tell my business to his daughter. I’m glad to know you, Miss Sampson and your cousin, but sorry you’ve come to Linrock now.”
“Why?” queried both girls in unison.
“Because it’s—oh, pretty rough—no place for girls to walk and ride.”
“Ah! I see. And your business has to do with rough places,” said Miss Sampson. “Strange that papa would not see you. Stranger that he should want me to hear your business. Either he’s joking or wants to impress me.
“Papa tried to persuade me not to come. He tried to frighten me with tales of this—this roughness out here. He knows I’m in earnest, how I’d like to help somehow, do some little good. Pray tell me this business.”
“I wished to get your father’s cooperation in my work.”
“Your work? You mean your Ranger duty—the arresting of rough characters?”
“That, yes. But that’s only a detail. Linrock is bad internally. My job is to make it good.”
“A splendid and worthy task,” replied Miss Sampson warmly. “I wish you success. But, Mr. Steele, aren’t you exaggerating Linrock’s wickedness?”
“No,” he answered forcibly.
“Indeed! And papa refused to see you—presumably refused to cooperate with you?” she asked thoughtfully.
“I take it that way.”
“Mr. Steele, pray tell me what is the matter with Linrock and just what the work is you’re called upon to do?” she asked seriously. “I heard papa say that he was the law in Linrock. Perhaps he resents interference. I know he’ll not tolerate any opposition to his will. Please tell me. I may be able to influence him.”
I listened to Steele’s deep voice as he talked about Linrock. What he said was old to me, and I gave heed only to its effect.
Miss Sampson’s expression, which at first had been earnest and grave, turned into one of incredulous amaze. She, and Sally too, watched Steele’s face in fascinated attention.
When it came to telling what he wanted to do, the Ranger warmed to his subject; he talked beautifully, convincingly, with a certain strange, persuasive power that betrayed how he worked his way; and his fine face, losing its stern, hard lines, seemed to glow and give forth a spirit austere, yet noble, almost gentle, assuredly something vastly different from what might have been expected in the expression of a gun-fighting Ranger. I sensed that Miss Sampson felt this just as I did.
“Papa said you were a hounder of outlaws—a man who’d rather kill than save!” she exclaimed.
The old stern cast returned to Steele’s face. It was as if he had suddenly remembered himself.
“My name is infamous, I am sorry to say,” he replied.
“You have killed men?” she asked, her dark eyes dilating.
Had any one ever dared ask Steele that before? His face became a mask. It told truth to me, but she could not see, and he did not answer.
“Oh, you are above that. Don’t—don’t kill any one here!”
“Miss Sampson, I hope I won’t.” His voice seemed to check her. I had been right in my estimate of her character—young, untried, but all pride, fire, passion. She was white then, and certainly beautiful.
Steele watched her, could scarcely have failed to see the white gleam of her beauty, and all that evidence of a quick and noble heart.
“Pardon me, please, Mr. Steele,” she said, recovering her composure. “I am—just a little overexcited. I didn’t mean to be inquisitive. Thank you for your confidence. I’ve enjoyed your call, though your news did distress me. You may rely upon me to talk to papa.”
That appeared to be a dismissal, and, bowing to her and Sally, the Ranger went out. I followed, not having spoken.
At the end of the porch I caught up with Steele and walked out into the moonlight beside him.
Just why I did not now reveal my identity I could not say, for certainly I was bursting with the desire to surprise him, to earn his approval. He loomed dark above me, appearing not to be aware of my presence. What a cold, strange proposition this Ranger was!
Still, remembering the earnestness of his talk to Miss Sampson, I could not think him cold. But I must have thought him so to any attraction of those charming girls.
Suddenly, as we passed under the shade of cottonwoods, he clamped a big hand down on my shoulder.
“My God, Russ, isn’t she lovely!” he ejaculated.
In spite of my being dumbfounded I had to hug him. He knew me!
“Thought you didn’t swear!” I gasped.
Ridiculously those were my first words to Vaughn Steele.
“My boy, I saw you parading up and down the street looking for me,” he said. “I intended to help you find me tomorrow.”
We gripped hands, and that strong feel and clasp meant much.
“Yes, she’s lovely, Steele,” I said. “But did you look at the cousin, the little girl with the eyes?”
Then we laughed and loosed hands.
“Come on, let’s get out somewhere. I’ve a million things to tell you.”
We went away out into the open where some stones gleamed white in the moonlight, and there, sitting in the sand, our backs against a rest, and with all quiet about us, we settled down for a long conference.
I began with Neal’s urgent message to me, then told of my going to the capitol—what I had overheard when Governor Smith was in the adjutant’s office; of my interview with them; of the spying on Colonel Sampson; Neal’s directions, advice, and command; the ride toward San Antonio; my being engaged as cowboy by Miss Sampson; of the further ride on to Sanderson and the incident there; and finally how I had approached Sampson and then had thought it well to get his daughter into the scheme of things.
It was a long talk, even for me, and my voice sounded husky.
“I told Neal I’d be lucky to get you,” said Steele, after a silence.
That was the only comment on my actions, the only praise, but the quiet way he spoke it made me feel like a boy undeserving of so much.
“Here, I forgot the money Neal sent,” I went on, glad to be rid of the huge roll of bills.
The Ranger showed surprise. Besides, he was very glad.
“The Captain loves the service,” said Steele. “He alone knows the worth of the Rangers. And the work he’s given his life to—the good that service really does—all depends on you and me, Russ!”
I assented, gloomily enough. Then I waited while he pondered.
The moon soared clear; there was a cool wind rustling the greasewood; a dog bayed a barking coyote; lights twinkled down in the town.
I looked back up at the dark hill and thought of Sally Langdon. Getting here to Linrock, meeting Steele had not changed my feelings toward her, only somehow they had removed me far off in thought, out of possible touch, it seemed.
“Well, son, listen,” began Steele. His calling me that was a joke, yet I did not feel it. “You’ve made a better start than I could have figured. Neal said you were lucky. Perhaps. But you’ve got brains.
“Now, here’s your cue for the present. Work for Miss Sampson. Do your best for her as long as you last. I don’t suppose you’ll last long. You have got to get in with this gang in town. Be a flash cowboy. You don’t need to get drunk, but you’re to pretend it.
“Gamble. Be a good fellow. Hang round the barrooms. I don’t care how you play the part, so long as you make friends, le
arn the ropes. We can meet out here at nights to talk and plan.
“You’re to take sides with those who’re against me. I’ll furnish you with the money. You’d better appear to be a winning gambler, even if you’re not. How’s this plan strike you?”
“Great—except for one thing,” I replied. “I hate to lie to Miss Sampson. She’s true blue, Steele.”
“Son, you haven’t got soft on her?”
“Not a bit. Maybe I’m soft on the little cousin. But I just like Miss Sampson—think she’s fine—could look up to her. And I hate to be different from what she thinks.”
“I understand, Russ,” he replied in his deep voice that had such quality to influence a man. “It’s no decent job. You’ll be ashamed before her. So would I. But here’s our work, the hardest ever cut out for Rangers. Think what depends upon it. And—”
“There’s something wrong with Miss Sampson’s father,” I interrupted.
“Something strange if not wrong. No man in this community is beyond us, Russ, or above suspicion. You’ve a great opportunity. I needn’t say use your eyes and ears as never before.”
“I hope Sampson turns out to be on the square,” I replied. “He might be a lax mayor, too good-natured to uphold law in a wild country. And his Southern pride would fire at interference. I don’t like him, but for his daughter’s sake I hope we’re wrong.”
Steele’s eyes, deep and gleaming in the moonlight, searched my face.
“Son, sure you’re not in love with her—you’ll not fall in love with her?”
“No. I am positive. Why?”
“Because in either case I’d likely have need of a new man in your place,” he said.
“Steele, you know something about Sampson—something more!” I exclaimed swiftly.
“No more than you. When I meet him face to face I may know more. Russ, when a fellow has been years at this game he has a sixth sense. Mine seldom fails me. I never yet faced the criminal who didn’t somehow betray fear—not so much fear of me, but fear of himself—his life, his deeds. That’s conscience, or if not, just realization of fate.”
Had that been the thing I imagined I had seen in Sampson’s face?
“I’m sorry Diane Sampson came out here,” I said impulsively.
Steele did not say he shared that feeling. He was looking out upon the moon-blanched level.
Some subtle thing in his face made me divine that he was thinking of the beautiful girl to whom he might bring disgrace and unhappiness.
CHAPTER 2
A KISS AND AN ARREST
A month had passed, a swift-flying time full of new life. Wonderful it was for me to think I was still in Diane Sampson’s employ.
It was the early morning hour of a day in May. The sun had not yet grown hot. Dew like diamond drops sparkled on the leaves and grass. The gentle breeze was clear, sweet, with the song of larks upon it.
And the range, a sea of gray-green growing greener, swept away westward in rolling ridges and hollows, like waves to meet the dark, low hills that notched the horizon line of blue.
I was sitting on the top bar of the corral fence and before me stood three saddled horses that would have gladdened any eye. I was waiting to take the young ladies on their usual morning ride.
Once upon a time, in what seemed the distant past to this eventful month, I had flattered myself there had been occasions for thought, but scornfully I soliloquized that in those days I had no cue for thought such as I had now.
This was one of the moments when my real self seemed to stand off and skeptically regard the fictitious cowboy.
This gentleman of the range wore a huge sombrero with an ornamented silver band, a silken scarf of red, a black velvet shirt, much affected by the Indians, an embroidered buckskin vest, corduroys, and fringed chaps with silver buttons, a big blue gun swinging low, high heeled boots, and long spurs with silver rowels.
A flash cowboy! Steele vowed I was a born actor.
But I never divulged the fact that had it not been for my infatuation for Sally, I never could have carried on that part, not to save the Ranger service, or the whole State of Texas.
The hardest part had not been the establishing of a reputation. The scorn of cowboys, the ridicule of gamblers, the badinage of the young bucks of the settlement—these I had soon made dangerous procedures for any one. I was quick with tongue and fist and gun.
There had been fights and respect was quickly earned, though the constant advent of strangers in Linrock always had me in hot water.
Moreover, instead of being difficult, it was fun to spend all the time I could in the hotels and resorts, shamming a weakness for drink, gambling, lounging, making friends among the rough set, when all the time I was a cool, keen registering machine.
The hard thing was the lie I lived in the eyes of Diane Sampson and Sally Langdon.
I had indeed won the sincere regard of my employer. Her father, her cousin George, and new-made friends in town had come to her with tales of my reckless doings, and had urged my dismissal.
But she kept me and all the time pleaded like a sister to have me mend my vicious ways. She believed what she was told about me, but had faith in me despite that.
As for Sally, I had fallen hopelessly in love with her. By turns Sally was indifferent to me, cold, friendly like a comrade, and dangerously sweet.
Somehow she saw through me, knew I was not just what I pretended to be. But she never breathed her conviction. She championed me. I wanted to tell her the truth about myself because I believed the doubt of me alone stood in the way of my winning her.
Still that might have been my vanity. She had never said she cared for me although she had looked it.
This tangle of my personal life, however, had not in the least affected my loyalty and duty to Vaughn Steele. Day by day I had grown more attached to him, keener in the interest of our work.
It had been a busy month—a month of foundation building. My vigilance and my stealthy efforts had not been rewarded by anything calculated to strengthen our suspicions of Sampson. But then he had been absent from the home very often, and was difficult to watch when he was there.
George Wright came and went, too, presumably upon stock business. I could not yet see that he was anything but an honest rancher, deeply involved with Sampson and other men in stock deals; nevertheless, as a man he had earned my contempt.
He was a hard drinker, cruel to horses, a gambler not above stacking the cards, a quick-tempered, passionate Southerner.
He had fallen in love with Diane Sampson, was like her shadow when at home. He hated me; he treated me as if I were the scum of the earth; if he had to address me for something, which was seldom, he did it harshly, like ordering a dog. Whenever I saw his sinister, handsome face, with its dark eyes always half shut, my hand itched for my gun, and I would go my way with something thick and hot inside my breast.
In my talks with Steele we spent time studying George Wright’s character and actions. He was Sampson’s partner, and at the head of a small group of Linrock ranchers who were rich in cattle and property, if not in money.
Steele and I had seen fit to wait before we made any thorough investigation into their business methods. Ours was a waiting game, anyway.
Right at the start Linrock had apparently arisen in resentment at the presence of Vaughn Steele. But it was my opinion that there were men in Linrock secretly glad of the Ranger’s presence.
What he intended to do was food for great speculation. His fame, of course, had preceded him. A company of militia could not have had the effect upon the wild element of Linrock that Steele’s presence had.
A thousand stories went from lip to lip, most of which were false. He was lightning swift on the draw. It was death to face him. He had killed thirty men—wildest rumor of all.
He had the gun skill of Buck Duane, the craft of Cheseldine, the deviltry of King Fisher, the most notorious of Texas desperadoes. His nerve, his lack of fear—those made him stand out alone even among a
horde of bold men.
At first there had not only been great conjecture among the vicious element, with which I had begun to affiliate myself, but also a very decided checking of all kinds of action calculated to be conspicuous to a keen eyed Ranger.
Steele did not hide, but during these opening days of his stay in Linrock he was not often seen in town. At the tables, at the bars and lounging places remarks went the rounds:
“Who’s thet Ranger after? What’ll he do fust off? Is he waitin’ fer somebody? Who’s goin’ to draw on him fust—an’ go to hell? Jest about how soon will he be found somewhere full of lead?”
Those whom it was my interest to cultivate grew more curious, more speculative and impatient as time went by. When it leaked out somewhere that Steele was openly cultivating the honest stay-at-home citizens, to array them in time against the other element, then Linrock showed its wolf teeth hinted of in the letters to Captain Neal.
Several times Steele was shot at in the dark and once slightly injured. Rumor had it that Jack Blome, the gunman of those parts, was coming in to meet Steele. Part of Linrock awakened and another part, much smaller, became quieter, more secluded.
Strangers upon whom we could get no line mysteriously came and went. The drinking, gambling, fighting in the resorts seemed to gather renewed life. Abundance of money floated in circulation.
And rumors, vague and unfounded, crept in from Sanderson and other points, rumors of a gang of rustlers off here, a hold-up of the stage off here, robbery of a rancher at this distant point, and murder done at another.
This was Texas and New Mexico life in these frontier days but, strangely neither Steele nor I had yet been able to associate any rumor or act with a possible gang of rustlers in Linrock.
Nevertheless we had not been discouraged. After three weeks of waiting we had become alive to activity around us, and though it was unseen, we believed we would soon be on its track.
My task was the busier and the easier. Steele had to have a care for his life. I never failed to caution him of this.
My long reflection on the month’s happenings and possibilities was brought to an end by the disappearance of Miss Sampson and Sally.
