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saw there might have been for him, under happier circumstances, a life of
noble deeds lived for such a woman.
"Don't go! Don't go!" she cried, as he started violently.
"I must. Dear, good-by! Remember I loved your"
He pulled her hands loose from his, stepped back.
"Ray, dearest I believe I'll come back!" he whispered.
These last words were falsehood.
He reached the door, gave her one last piercing glance, to fix for ever in
memory that white face with its dark, staring, tragic eyes.
"DUANE!"
He fled with that moan like thunder, death, hell in his ears.
To forget her, to get back his nerve, he forced into mind the image of
Poggin-Poggin, the tawny-haired, the yellow-eyed, like a jaguar, with his
rippling muscles. He brought back his sense of the outlaw's wonderful
presence, his own unaccountable fear and hate. Yes, Poggin had sent the cold
sickness of fear to his marrow. Why, since he hated life so? Poggin was his
supreme test. And this abnormal and stupendous instinct, now deep as the very
foundation of his life, demanded its wild and fatal issue. There was a
horrible thrill in his sudden remembrance that Poggin likewise had been
taunted in fear of him.
So the dark tide overwhelmed Duane, and when he left the room he was fierce,
implacable, steeled to any outcome, quick like a panther, somber as death, in
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the thrall of his strange passion.
There was no excitement in the street. He crossed to the bank corner. A
clock inside pointed the hour of two. He went through the door into the
vestibule, looked around, passed up the steps into the bank. The clerks were
at their desks, apparently busy. But they showed nervousness. The cashier
paled at sight of Duane. There were men the rangers crouching down behind the
low partition. All the windows had been removed from the iron grating before
the desks. The safe was closed. There was no money in sight. A customer came
in, spoke to the cashier, and was told to come to-morrow.
Duane returned to the door. He could see far down the street, out into the
country. There he waited, and minutes were eternities. He saw no person near
him; he heard no sound. He was insulated in his unnatural strain.
At a few minutes before half past two a dark, compact body of horsemen
appeared far down, turning into the road. They came at a sharp trot a group
that would have attracted attention anywhere at any time. They came a little
faster as they entered town; then faster still; now they were four blocks
away, now three, now two. Duane backed down the middle of the vestibule, up
the steps, and halted in the center of the wide doorway.
There seemed to be a rushing in his ears through which pierced sharp,
ringing clip-clop of iron hoofs. He could see only the corner of the street.
But suddenly into that shot lean-limbed dusty bay horses. There was a
clattering of nervous hoofs pulled to a halt.
Duane saw the tawny Poggin speak to his companions. He dismounted quickly.
They followed suit. They had the manner of ranchers about to conduct some
business. No guns showed. Poggin started leisurely for the bank door,
quickening step a little. The others, close together, came behind him. Blossom
Kane had a bag in his left hand. Jim Fletcher was left at the curb, and he had
already gathered up the bridles.
Poggin entered the vestibule first, with Kane on one side, Boldt on the
other, a little in his rear.
As he strode in he saw Duane.
"HELL'S FIRE!" he cried.
Something inside Duane burst, piercing all of him with cold. Was it that
fear?
"BUCK DUANE!" echoed Kane.
One instant Poggin looked up and Duane looked down.
Like a striking jaguar Poggin moved. Almost as quickly Duane threw his arm.
The guns boomed almost together.
Duane felt a blow just before he pulled trigger. His thoughts came fast,
like the strange dots before his eyes. His rising gun had loosened in his
hand. Poggin had drawn quicker! A tearing agony encompassed his breast. He
pulled pulled at random. Thunder of booming shots all about him! Red flashes,
jets of smoke, shrill yells! He was sinking. The end; yes, the end! With
fading sight he saw Kane go down, then Boldt. But supreme torture, bitterer
than death, Poggin stood, mane like a lion's, back to the wall, bloody-faced,
grand, with his guns spouting red!
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All faded, darkened. The thunder deadened. Duane fell, seemed floating.
There it drifted Ray Longstreth's sweet face, white, with dark, tragic eyes,
fading from his sight ... fading ... fading ...
Chapter XXV
Light shone before Duane's eyes thick, strange light that came and went. For
a long time dull and booming sounds rushed by, filling all. It was a dream in
which there was nothing; a drifting under a burden; darkness, light, sound,
movement; and vague, obscure sense of time time that was very long. There was
fire creeping, consuming fire. A dark cloud of flame enveloped him, rolled him
away. He saw then, dimly, a room that was strange, strange people moving about
over him, with faint voices, far away, things in a dream. He saw again,
clearly, and consciousness returned, still unreal, still strange, full of
those vague and far-away things. Then he was not dead. He lay stiff, like a
stone, with a weight ponderous as a mountain upon him and all his bound body
racked in slow, dull-beating agony.
A woman's face hovered over him, white and tragic-eyed, like one of his old
haunting phantoms, yet sweet and eloquent. Then a man's face bent over him,
looked deep into his eyes, and seemed to whisper from a distance:
"Duane Duane! Ah, he knew me!"
After that there was another long interval of darkness. When the light came
again, clearer this time, the same earnest-faced man bent over him. It was
MacNelly. And with recognition the past flooded back.
Duane tried to speak. His lips were weak, and he could scarcely move them.
"Poggin!" he whispered. His first real conscious thought was for Poggin.
Ruling passion eternal instinct!
"Poggin is dead, Duane; shot to pieces," replied MacNelly, solemnly. "What a
fight he made! He killed two of my men, wounded others. God! he was a tiger.
He used up three guns before we downed him." "Who-got away?"
"Fletcher, the man with the horses. We downed all the others. Duane, the
job's done it's done! Why, man, you're "
"What of of HER?"
"Miss Longstreth has been almost constantly at your bedside. She helped the
doctor. She watched your wounds. And, Duane, the other night, when you sank
low so low I think it was her spirit that held yours back. Oh, she's a
wonderful girl. Duane, she never gave up, never lost her nerve for a moment.
Well, we're going to take you home, and she'll go with us. Colonel Longstreth
left for Louisiana right after the fight. I advised it. There was great
excitement. It was best for him to leave."
"Have I a chance to recover?"
"Chance? Why, man," exclaimed the Captain, "you'll get well! You'll pack a [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]