The Tribune-Progress (Mountain View, Okla.), Vol. 18, No. 45, Ed. 1 Friday, March 16, 1917 Page: 3 of 8
This newspaper is part of the collection entitled: Mountain View Times and Tribune Progress and was provided to The Gateway to Oklahoma History by the Oklahoma Historical Society.
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MOUNTAIN VIEW TRIBUNE-PROGRESS
The Lone Star Ranger
A Fine Tale of the Open Country
By ZANE GREY
CHAPTER XX—Continued.
-12-
Just at that moment Daane felt
tin almost Inappreciable movement of
the adobe wall which supported him.
He could scarcely credit his senses.
But the rattle Inside Longstreth’s
toom was mingling with little dull
thuds of falling dirt. The adobe wall,
merely dried mud, was crumbling.
Duane distinctly felt a tremor pass
through It. Then the blood gushed
tack to his heart.
“What la the hell 1” exclaimed
Longstreth.
“I smell dust,” said Lawson, sharp-
ly.
That was a signal for Duane to
idrop down from his perch, yet de-
spite his care he made a noise.
“Did you hear a step?” queried
Longstreth.
No one answered. But a heavy
piece of the adobe wall fell with a
thud. Duane heard It crack, felt It
ahake.
“There’s somebody between the
walls!" thundered Longstreth.
Then a section of the wall fell In-
ward with a crash. Duane began to
•queeze his body through the narrow
passago toward the patio.
"Hea* him I” yelled Lawson. “This
aide!"
"No, he's going that way,” yelled
Longstreth.
The tramp of heavy boots lent
Duane the strength of desperation.
He was not shirking a fight, but to
be cornered like a trapped coyote was
another matter. He almost tore his
clothes off In that passage. The dust
nearly stifled him. When he burst In-
to the patio It was not an Instant too
soon. But one deep gasp of breath
revived him and he was up, gun In
band, running for the outlet Into the
court. Thumping footsteps turned him
back. While there was a chance to
get away he did not want to fight.
He thought he heard someone run-
ning into the patio from the other end.
He stole along, and coming to a door,
without any idea of where It might
lead, he softly pushed It open a little
way and slipped In.
CHAPTER XXI.
A low cry greeted Duane. The
room was light. He saw Ray Long-
streth sitting on her bed In her dress-
ing-gown. With a warning gesture to
her to be silent he turned to close the
door. It was a heavy door without
bolt or bar, and when Duane had shut
It he felt safe only for the moment.
Then he gazed around the room.
There was one window with blind
closely drawn. He listened and seem-
ed to hear footsteps retreating, dying
away.
Then Duane turned to Miss Long-
streth. She had slipped off the bed,
half to her knees, and was holding out
trembling hands. She was as white
as the pillow of her bed. She was
terribly frightened. Again with warn-
ing hand commanding silence, Duane
atepped softly forward, meaning to
reassure her.
“Oh!” she whispered wildly; and
Duane thought she was going to faint.
When he got close and looked Into
her eyes he understood the strange,
•dark expression In them. She was
terrified because she believed he
meant to kill her, or do worse, prob-
ably worse. Duane realized he must
have looked pretty hard and fierce
bursting Into her room with that big
gun In hand.
The way she searched Duane’s face
-with doubtful, fearful eyes hurt him
"Listen. I didn’t know this was
jour room. I came here to get away
—to save my life. I was pursued,
was spying on your father and his
men. They heard me, but did not see
ine. They don’t know who was listen-
ing. They’re after me now.”
Her eyes changed from blank gulfs
to dilating, shadowing, quickening
windows of thought.
Then she stood up and faced -Duane
with the fire and intelligence of a
woman In her eyes.
“Tell me now. You were spying on
my father?”
Briefly Duane told h*r what had
happened before he entered her room,
not omitting a terse word ns to the
character of the men he had watched.
“My God! So it’s that? I knew
something was terribly wrong here—
with him—with the place—the people,
And right off I hated Floyd Lawson.
Oh, it ’ll kill me if—if— It’s so much
worse than I dreamed. What shall
1 do?"
The sound of soft steps somewhere
near distracted Duane’s attention,
reminded him of her peril, and now,
what counted more with him, made
clear the probability of being discover-
ed in her room.
‘Til have to get out of here,”
whispered Duane.
“Wait,” she replied. ‘Didn’t you
vay they we^fe hunting for you?”
“They sure are,” he returned, grim-
ly.
“Oh. then you mustn’t go. They
might shoot you. Stay. If we hear
them you can hide. I’ll turn out the
light. Til meet them at the door.
You can trust me. Wait till all quiets
down, if we have to wait till morn-
ing. Then you ean slip out.”
“I ’oughtn't -to $t»y. T don’t want
to—I won’t,” Duane replied, perplex-
ed and stubborn.
“But you must. It’s the only uafe
way. They won’t come hero.”
“Suppose they should? It’s an even
chance Longstreth 'll search every
room and corner in this old house. If
they found me here I couldn’t Btart
fight You might be hurt. Then—
the fact of my being here—”
Duane did not finish what he meant,
but Instead made a step toward the
door. White of face and dark of eye,
she took hold of him to detain him.
She was as strong and supple as a
panther. But she need not have boen
either resolute or strong, for the clasp
of her hand wa? enough to make
Duane weak.
“Up yet, Ray?” came Longstreth’s
clear voice, too strained, too eager to
be natural.
“No. I’m In bed reading. Good
night,” Instantly replied Miss Long-
streth, so calmly and nnturally that
Duane marveled at the difference be-
tween man and woman. Then she
motioned for Duane to hide In the
closet. Re slipped In, but the door
would not close altogether.
“Are you alone?” went on Long-
streth’s penetrating voice.
“Yes," she replied. “Ruth went to
bed."
The door swung Inward with a swift
scrape and Jar. Longstreth half en-
tered, haggard, flaming-eyed. Behind
him Duane saw Lawson, and Indis-
tinctly another man.
Longstreth barred Lawson from en-
tering, which action showed control as
well as distrust. He wanted to see
Into the room. When he had glanced
around he went out and closed the
door.
Then what seemed a long Interval
ensued. The house grew silent once
more. Duane could not see Miss
Longstreth, but he heard her quick
breathing.
Presently he pushed open the closet
door and stepped forth. Miss Long-
streth had her head lowered upon her
arms and appeared to be In distress.
At his touch she raised a quivering
face.
“I think I can go now—safely," he
whispered.
“Go then, If you must, but you may
stay till you’re safe,” she replied.
“I—I couldn’t thank you enough.
It’s been hard on me—this finding
out—and you his daughter. I feel
strange. I don’t understand myself
well. But I want you to know—If I
were not an outlaw—a ranger—I’d lay
my life at your feet.”
"Oh 1 You have seen so—so little
of me,” she faltered.
"All the same It’s true. And that
makes me feel more the trouble my
coming caused you.”
“You will not fight my father?”
“Not If I can help It I’m trying
to get out of the way.”
“But you spied upon him.”
“I am a ranger, Miss Longstreth.”
"And oh 1 I am a rustler’s daughter,”
she cried. “That’s so much more ter-
hlm. The Instant she betrayed the
secret Dunne realized perfectly that
he loved her. The emotion was like
a great flood.
“Miss Longstreth, all this seems so
unbelievable," he whispered. “Chesel-
dine Is a rustler chief I've come out
here to get. He’s only a name. Your
father Is the real man. I've sworn
to get him. Fm bound by more than
law or ouths. I can’t break what
binds me. And L must disgrace you—
wreck your life I Why, Miss Long-
streth, I believe I—I love you. It’s
all come In a rush. I'd die for you
If I could. How fatal—terrible—this
Is! How things work outl"
She slipped to her knees, with her
hands on his.
“You won’t kill him?” she Implored.
“If you care for me—you won't kill
him."
“No. That I promise you.”
With a low moan she dropped her
head upon the bed.
Dunne opened the door and stealth-
ily stole out through the corridor to
the court. But long after he had
tramped out Into the open there was
a lump in his throat and an ache In
his breast
A Low Cry Greeted Duane.
rlble than I'd suspected. It was
tricky cattle deals I imagined he was
engaged in. But only to-night I had
strong suspicions aroused.”
“How? Tell me.”
“I overheard Floyd say that men
were coming to-night to arrange a
meeting for my father at a rendezvous
near Ord. Father did not want to go.
Floyd taunted him with a name,”
“What name?” queried Duane.
“It was Cheseldlne.”
“Cheseldine! My God! Miss Long-
s*-eth, why did you tell me that?”
.That difference does that make?”
“Your father and Cheseldlne are one
and the same,” whispered Duane,
hoarsely.
“I gathered so much myself.” she re-
plied, miserably. “But Longstreth Is
father’s real name."
Duane felt so stunned that he could
not speak at once. It was the girl’s
part In this tragedy that weakened
up on the dusty horses, and hulted
in a bunch before tho tavern. The
party consisted ubout twenty men, all
heavily armed, and evidently In
charge of a clenn-cut, leun-llmbcd
cowboy. Dunne experienced consider-
able satisfaction at the absence of the
sheriff who he had understood was
to lead the posse. Perhaps he was
out In another direction with n differ-
ent force.
"Hollo, Jim Fletcher," called the
cowboy.
“Howdy," replied Fletcher.
At this short, dry responso nnd the
way he strode leisurely out bofore the
posse Dunne found himself modifying
ills contempt for Fletcher. The out-
law was different now.
"Fletcher, we’ve tracked a man to
all but three miles of this place.
Tracks ns plain ns the nose on your
face. Found his camp. Then he hit
Into the brush, nn’ wo lost the trail.
Didn’t have no tracker with us. Think
he went into tho mountains. But
CHAPTER XXII. •
Dunne hnd decided to go to Ori
nnd try to find the rendezvous where
Longstreth was to meet his men.
These men Duane wanted even more
than their leader. It was Poggin who
needed to be found and stopped.
Poggin and his right-hand men 1
The night of the day before he
reached Bradford, No. 6, the mall and
express train going east, was held up
by train-robberies, the Wells-Fargo
messenger killed over his safe, the
mail-clerk wounded, the bags carried
away. The engine No. 6 came into
town minus even a tender, and en-
gineer and fireman told conflicting
stories. A posse of railroad men and
citizens, led by a sheriff Duane sus-
pected was crooked, was made up be-
fore the engine steamed back to pick
up the *est of the train. Duane had
the sudden inspiration that he had
been cudgeling his mind to find; and,
acting upon It, he mounted his horse
again and left Bradford unobserved.
He rode at an easy trot most of
the night, selected an exceedingly
rough, roundabout, and difficult course
to Ord, hid his tracks with the skill
of a long-hunted fugitive, and arrived
there with his horse winded and cov-
ered with lather. It added consider-
able to his arrival that the man
Duane remembered as Fletcher and
several others saw him come in the
back way through the lots and Jump
a fence Into the road.
Duane led Bullet up to the porch
where Fletcher stood wiping his
beard. He was hatless, vestless, and
evidently had Just enjoyed a morning
drink.
“Howdy, Dodge,” Bald Fletcher,
laconically.
Duane replied, and the other man
returned the greeting with interest.'
“Jim, my hoss ’s done up. I want
to hide him from any chance tourists
as might happen to ride up curious-
like.’’
“Haw! haw! hawl"
Duane gathered encouragement
from that chorus of coarse laughter.
“Wal, If them tourists ain’t too
durned snooky the hoss 'll be safe
In the 'dobe shack back of Bill’s here.
Feed thar, too, but you’ll hev to rus-
tle water.”
Duane led Bullet to the place Indi-
cated, had care of his welfare, and
left him there. Upon returning to
the tavern porch Duane saw the group
of men had been added to by others,
some of- whom he had seen before.
Without comment Duane walked
along the edge of the road, and wher-
ever one of the tracks of his horse
showed he carefully obliterated It.
This procedure was attentively
watched by Fletcher and his com-
panions.
“Wal, Dodge,” remarked Fletcher,
as Duane returned, “thet’s safer ’n
prayin’ fer rain.”
Duane’s reply was a remark as
loquacious as Fletcher’s, to the effect
that a long, slow, monotonous ride
was conducive to thirst. They all
Joined him, unmistakably friendly.
But Knell was not there, and most
assuredly not Poggin. Fletcher was
no common outlaw, but, whatever his
ability, It probably lay In execution
of orders. Apparently at that time
these men had nothing to do but
drink and lounge around the tavern.
Duane set out to make himself agree-
able and succeeded. All morning men
came and went, until, all told, Duane
calculated he had seen at least fifty.
Toward the middle of the afternoon
a young fellow burst Into the saloon
and yelled one word: -
“Posse I"
From the scramble to get outdoors
Duane Judged that word and the en-
suing action was rare In Ord.
“What’s all this?” muttered Fletch-
er, as he gazed down the road at a
dark, compact bunch of horses and
riders. “Fust time I ever seen thet
In Ord 1 Wish Phil was here or Poggy.
Now all you gents keep quiet. I’ll do
the talkin’.”
The posse entered the town, trotted
Fletcher and Others Saw Him.
we took a chance an’ rid over the rest
of the way, seein’ Ord was so close.
Anybody come in here late last night
or early this mornln'7"
“Nope,” replied Fletcher.
His response was what Duane had
expected from his manner, and evi-
dently the cowboy took It as a matter
of course. He turned to the others
of the posse, entering Into a low con-
sultation. Evidently there wns differ-
ence of opinion, If not real dissension,
In that posse.
“Didn’t I tell ye this was a wild-
goose chase, cornin' way out here?"
protested an old hawk-faced rancher.
“Them hoss tracks we follored ain’t
like any of them we seen at the
water-tank where the train was held
up."
“Pm not sure of that,” replied the
leader.
“Wal, Guthrie, I’ve follored tracks
all my life—”
“But you couldn’t keep to the trail
this feller made in the brush.”
“Gimme time, an’ I could. Thet
takes time. An’ heah you go hell-bent
for election! But It’s a wrong lead
out this way. If you’re right, this
road-agent, after he killed his pals,
would hev rid back right through town.
An’ with them mailbags t Supposin’
they was greasers? Some greasers
has sense, an’ when It comes to thiev-
in’ they’re shore cute.”
“But we ain’t got any reason to be-
lieve this robber who murdered the
greasers is a greaser himself. I tell
you It was a slick Job, done by no
ordinary sneak. Didn’t you hear the
facts? One greaser hopped the engine
an’ covered the engineer an’ fireman.
Another greaser kept flashln’ his gun
outside the train. The big man who
shoved back the car door an’ did the
killin’—he was the real gent, an’ don’t
you forget It.”
Some of the posse sided with the
cowboy leader and some with the old
cattleman. Finally the young leader
disgustedly gathered up his bridle.
"Aw, hell! Thet sheriff shoved you
off this trail. Mebbe he hed reason!
Savvy thet? If I hed a bunch of cow-
boys with me—I tell you what. I’d take
a chance and clean up this hole!”
All the while Jim Fletcher stood
quietly with his hands In his pockets.
“Guthrie,. I’m shore treasurin’ up
your friendly talk,” he said. The
menace was in the tone, not the con-
tent of his speech.
“You can—an’ be damned to you,
Fletcher!" called Guthrie, as the
horses started.
Fletcher, standing out alone before
the others of his clan, watched the
posse out of sight
“Luck fer you-all thet Poggy wasn't
here,” he said, as they disappeared.
Then with a thoughtful mien he
strode up on the porch and led Duane
away from the others Into the bar-
aoom. When he looked Into Duane’s
face It was somehow an entirely
changed scrutiny,
“Dodge, whor’d you hide tho stuff?
I reckon I git In on this deal, seoln’
I staved off Guthrie.”
Duano played his part Here was
his opportunity, and like n tiger after
prey he seized It. First he coolly
eyed tho outlaw and then disclaimed
any knowledge whntever of tho trnln-
robbery other than Fletcher hnd heard
himself. Then at Fletcher’s persist-
ence and admiration nnd increasing
show of friendliness ho laughed oc-
casionally nnd allowed himself to
swell with pride, though still denying.
Later, when Dunne started up an-
nouncing his intention to get his horse
nnd make for camp out In tho brush,
Fletcher seemed grievously offended.
“Why don’t you stay with me? I’ve
got a comfortnblo 'dobe over here.
Didn't I stick by you when Guthrlo
an’ his bunch come up? Supposin’ I
hedn't showed down a cool hand to
ldm? You'd be swingin’ somewheres
now. I tell you, Dodge, It ain’t
square."
“I’ll squnro It. I pay my debts,"
replied Duane. "But I can't put up
here all night. If I belonged to tho
gang it ’d be different."
"What gang?" asked Fletcher, blunt-
ly-
"Why, Cheseldlne’s."
Fletcher's beard nodded ns his Jaw
dropped,
Duano laughed. “I run Into him
the other day. Knowed him on sight.
Sure, he’s the king-pin rustler. When
ho seen me an’ asked me what reason
I had for bein’ on earth or some such
like—why, I up an’ told him."
Fletcher appeared staggered.
“Who In all-fired hell air you talkin’
about?"
“Didn’t I tell you once? Cheseldlne.
He calls himself Longstreth over
there.”
All of Fletcher’s face not covered
by hair turned n dirty white.
"Cheseldlne — Longstreth!" he
whispered, honrsely. "God Almighty I
You braced the—” Then a remarkable
transformation came over tho outlaw.
He gulped; he straightened Ills fuce;
ho controlled his ngltatlon. But he
could not send tho healthy brown
back to Ills face. Duane, wntchlng this
rude man, marveled at the change In
him, tho sudden checking movement,
the proof of a wonderful fear and
loyalty. It all meant Cheseldine,
master of men I
“Who air you?” queried Fletcher, In
a queer, strained voice.
“You gave me a handle, didn't you?
Dodge. Thet’s as good as any. Shore
it hits me hard. Jim, I’ve been pretty
lonely for years, an’ I’m gettln’ in
need of pals. Think it over, will you?
See you manana."
The outlaw watched Duane go off
after his horse, watched him as he re-
turned to the tavern, watched him
ride out In the darkness—all without
a word.
Duane left the town, threaded a
quiet passage through cactus and mes-
qulte to a spot he had marked before,
and passed the night. His mind was
so full that he found sleep aloof.
Luck at last was playing his game.
He sensed the first slow heave of a
mighty crisis. The end, always haunt-
ing, had to be sternly blotted from
thought. It wns the approach that
needed all his mind.
Late In the morning he returned to
Ord. If Jim Fletcher tried to disguise
his surprise, the effort wns a failure.
Certainly he had not expected to see
Duane again. Duane allowed himself
a little freedom with Fletcher, an at-
titude hitherto lacking.
That afternoon a horseman rode In
from Bradford, nn outlaw evidently
well known and liked by his fellows,
and Duane heard him sny, before he
could possibly have been told the
train-robber was In Ord, that the loss
of money in the hold-up was slight.
Like a flash Duane saw the luck of
this report He pretended not to have
heard.
In the early twilight at an opportune
moment he called Fletcher to him,
and, linking his arm within the out-
law’s, he drew him off In a stroll to
a log bridge spanning a little gully.
Here after gazing around, he took out
a roll of bills, spread It out, split It
equally, and without a word handed
one half to Fletcher. With clumsy
fingers Fletcher ran through the roll.
“Five hundred!” he exclaimed.
"Dodge, thet’s damn handsome of you,
considerin’ the Job wasn’t—”
“Considerin’ nothin’,” Interrupted
Duane. “I’m makln’ no reference to
a job here or there. You did me a
good. turn. I split my pile. If thet
doesn’t make us pards, good turns
an’ money ain’t no use In this coun-
try.”
Fletcher was won.
Tho two men spend much time to-
gether. Duane made up a short ficti-
tious story about himself that satis-
fied the outlaw, only it drew forth a
laughing Jest upon Duane’s modesty.
For Fletcher did not hide his belief
that this new partner was a man of
achievements. Knell and Poggin, find
then Cheseldine himself, would be
persuaded of this fact, so Fletcher
boasted. He had Influence. He would
use it. He thought he pulled a stroke
with Knell. But nobody on earth,
not even the boss, had any Influence
on Poggin. Poggin was concentrated
jcg part of the »U the rest he
wns bursting hell. Rut I*oggtn loved
a horse. lie never loved anything
else. He could be won with that
bluck horse Bullet Cheseldlne wns
already won by Duune's monumental
nerve; otherwise he would have killed
Duane.
Little by little the next few days
Duane learned the points he longed
to know; and how Indelibly they etch-
ed themselves In his memory l Chesel«
dlne's hiding-place was on the far
slope of Mount Ord, In a deep, hlgh-
wnlled valley. He always went there
ust before a contemplated Job, where
he met and planned with his lieuten-
ants. Then while they executed he
basked In the sunshine before on* or
another of the public places he owned.
Ho was there In the Ord den now,
getting ready to plan tho biggest Job
yet It wns a bank-robbery; but
where, Fletcher had not as yet been
advised.
Then when Dunno hnd pumped the
now amenable outlaw of all details
pertaining to tho present he gathered
(Intn nnd facts and places covering a
period of ten years Fletcher hnd been
with Cheseldlne. And herewith was
unfolded a history so dark In Its
bloody regime, so Incredible In Its
brazen daring, so appalling In Its proof
of the outlaw’s sweep and grasp of
the country from Pecos to Rio Grande,
that Duano wns stunned. Compared
to this Choseldlne of the Big Bend,
to this rancher, stock-buyer, cattle-
speculator, property-holder, all the
outlaws Dunne had ever known sank
Into lnslgnlflcnnco. The power of the
man stunned Dunne; the strange
fidelity given him stunned Duane; the
lntricnto inside working of his great
system wns equally stunning. But
when Duano recovered from that the
old terrible pnsslon to kill consumed
him, and It raged fiercely and It could
not be checked. If that rod-handed
Poggin, If that cold-eyed, dead-faced
Knoll hnd only been at Ord I But
they were not, nnd Duuno with help
of time got what he hoped was thi
upper hand of himself.
CHAPTER XXIII.
Again Inaction and suspense drag*
ged at Dunne’s spirit
But one day there were signs of the
long quiet of Ord being broken. A
messenger strange to Dunne rode in
on a secret mission that had to do
with Fletcher. Dunne was present In
the tavern when the fellow arrived
saw the few words whispered, but did
not hear them. Fletcher turned white
with anger or fear, perhaps both, and
he cursed like n madman. The mes-
senger rode away off to the west.
This west mystified and fascinated,
Duane as much as the south beyond
Mount Ord. After the messenger left
Fletcher grew silent nnd surly. It
became clear now that the other out-
laws of the camp feared him, kept
out of his way. Duane let him alone,
yet closely watched him.
Perhaps an hour after the messen-
ger had left, not longer, Fletcher man-
ifestly arrived at some decision, and
he cnlled for his horse. Then he
went to his shack and returned. To
Dunne the outlaw looked in shape both
to ride and to fight. He gave orders
for the men in camp to keep close
until he returned. Then he mounted.
“Come here, Dodge," he called.
Duane went up and laid a hand on
the pommel of the saddle. Fletcher
walked his horse, with Duane beside
him, till they reached the log bridge,
when he halted.
"Dodge, I'm In bad with Knell,” he
said. “An’ It ’pears I’m the cause of
friction between Knell an’ Poggy.
... .-4
“God Almlghtyl You Bnaced the—”
Knell never had any use ier me, but
Boggy’s been square, If not friendly.
The boss had a big deal on, an’ here
It’s been held up because of this
scrap. He’s waitin’ over there on the
mountain to give orders to Knell or
Boggy, an’ neither one’s sbowin’ up.
I’ve got to stand In the breach, an’
I ain’t enjoyin’ the prospects.”
"What’s the trouble about, Jim?"
asked Duane.
“Reckon It’s a little about you.
Dodge,” said Fletcher, dryly. “Knell
hadn’t any use fet you thet day.
Knell claims to know somethin’ about
you that ’ll make both the boss an’
Poggy sick when he springs It. But
he’s keepln’ quiet. Hard man to Ag-
ger, thet KnelL Reckon you’d better
go bad* to Bradford fer a day or so*
then camp out here till I come back.**
“Why?”
__. (TO BB CONTINUED^
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West, H. C. The Tribune-Progress (Mountain View, Okla.), Vol. 18, No. 45, Ed. 1 Friday, March 16, 1917, newspaper, March 16, 1917; (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc914900/m1/3/: accessed April 24, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.