Part 32 (1/2)

”Rustlers?”

But he did not follow up that look with the affirmative Duane expected.

”Lively place, I hear--Fairdale is?”

”Ain't so lively as Sanderson, but it's bigger.”

”Yes, I heard it was. Fellow down there was talking about two cowboys who were arrested.”

”Sure. I heered all about that. Joe Bean an' Brick Higgins--they belong heah, but they ain't heah much. Longstreth's boys.”

Duane did not want to appear over-inquisitive, so he turned the talk into other channels.

After getting supper Duane strolled up and down the main street. When darkness set in he went into a hotel, bought cigars, sat around, and watched. Then he pa.s.sed out and went into the next place. This was of rough crude exterior, but the inside was comparatively pretentious and ablaze with lights. It was full of men coming and going--a dusty-booted crowd that smelled of horses and smoke. Duane sat down for a while, with wide eyes and open ears. Then he hunted up the bar, where most of the guests had been or were going. He found a great square room lighted by six huge lamps, a bar at one side, and all the floor-s.p.a.ce taken up by tables and chairs. This was the only gambling place of any size in southern Texas in which he had noted the absence of Mexicans. There was some card-playing going on at this moment. Duane stayed in there for a while, and knew that strangers were too common in Fairdale to be conspicuous. Then he returned to the inn where he had engaged a room.

Duane sat down on the steps of the dingy little restaurant. Two men were conversing inside, and they had not noticed Duane.

”Laramie, what's the stranger's name?” asked one.

”He didn't say,” replied the other.

”Sure was a strappin' big man. Struck me a little odd, he did. No cattleman, him. How'd you size him?”

”Well, like one of them cool, easy, quiet Texans who's been lookin' for a man for years--to kill him when he found him.”

”Right you are, Laramie; and, between you an' me, I hope he's lookin'

for Long--”

”'S--s.h.!.+” interrupted Laramie. ”You must be half drunk, to go talkie'

that way.”

Thereafter they conversed in too low a tone for Duane to hear, and presently Laramie's visitor left. Duane went inside, and, making himself agreeable, began to ask casual questions about Fairdale. Laramie was not communicative.

Duane went to his room in a thoughtful frame of mind. Had Laramie's visitor meant he hoped some one had come to kill Longstreth? Duane inferred just that from the interrupted remark. There was something wrong about the Mayor of Fairdale. Duane felt it. And he felt also, if there was a crooked and dangerous man, it was this Floyd Lawson. The innkeeper Laramie would be worth cultivating. And last in Duane's thoughts that night was Miss Longstreth. He could not help thinking of her--how strangely the meeting with her had affected him. It made him remember that long-past time when girls had been a part of his life.

What a sad and dark and endless void lay between that past and the present! He had no right even to dream of a beautiful woman like Ray Longstreth. That conviction, however, did not dispel her; indeed, it seemed perversely to make her grow more fascinating. Duane grew conscious of a strange, unaccountable hunger, a something that was like a pang in his breast.

Next day he lounged about the inn. He did not make any overtures to the taciturn proprietor. Duane had no need of hurry now. He contented himself with watching and listening. And at the close of that day he decided Fairdale was what MacNelly had claimed it to be, and that he was on the track of an unusual adventure. The following day he spent in much the same way, though on one occasion he told Laramie he was looking for a man. The innkeeper grew a little less furtive and reticent after that.

He would answer casual queries, and it did not take Duane long to learn that Laramie had seen better days--that he was now broken, bitter, and hard. Some one had wronged him.

Several days pa.s.sed. Duane did not succeed in getting any closer to Laramie, but he found the idlers on the corners and in front of the stores unsuspicious and willing to talk. It did not take him long to find out that Fairdale stood parallel with Huntsville for gambling, drinking, and fighting. The street was always lined with dusty, saddled horses, the town full of strangers. Money appeared more abundant than in any place Duane had ever visited; and it was spent with the abandon that spoke forcibly of easy and crooked acquirement. Duane decided that Sanderson, Bradford, and Ord were but notorious outposts to this Fairdale, which was a secret center of rustlers and outlaws. And what struck Duane strangest of all was the fact that Longstreth was mayor here and held court daily. Duane knew intuitively, before a chance remark gave him proof, that this court was a sham, a farce. And he wondered if it were not a blind. This wonder of his was equivalent to suspicion of Colonel Longstreth, and Duane reproached himself. Then he realized that the reproach was because of the daughter. Inquiry had brought him the fact that Ray Longstreth had just come to live with her father. Longstreth had originally been a planter in Louisiana, where his family had remained after his advent in the West. He was a rich rancher; he owned half of Fairdale; he was a cattle-buyer on a large scale. Floyd Lawson was his lieutenant and a.s.sociate in deals.

On the afternoon of the fifth day of Duane's stay in Fairdale he returned to the inn from his usual stroll, and upon entering was amazed to have a rough-looking young fellow rush by him out of the door. Inside Laramie was lying on the floor, with a b.l.o.o.d.y bruise on his face. He did not appear to be dangerously hurt.

”Bo Snecker! He hit me and went after the cash-drawer,” said Laramie, laboring to his feet.

”Are you hurt much?” queried Duane.

”I guess not. But Bo needn't to have soaked me. I've been robbed before without that.”

”Well, I'll take a look after Bo,” replied Duane.