The Lone Star Ranger | Page 7

of his uncle
recalled the fact that he must now become a fugitive. An unreasonable
anger took hold of him.
"The d--d fool!" he exclaimed, hotly. "Meeting Bain wasn't much,
Uncle Jim. He dusted my boots, that's all. And for that I've got to go on
the dodge."
"Son, you killed him--then?" asked the uncle, huskily.
"Yes. I stood over him--watched him die. I did as I would have been
done by."
"I knew it. Long ago I saw it comin'. But now we can't stop to cry over
spilt blood. You've got to leave town an' this part of the country."
"Mother!" exclaimed Duane.

"She's away from home. You can't wait. I'll break it to her--what she
always feared."
Suddenly Duane sat down and covered his face with his hands.
"My God! Uncle, what have I done?" His broad shoulders shook.
"Listen, son, an' remember what I say," replied the elder man, earnestly.
"Don't ever forget. You're not to blame. I'm glad to see you take it this
way, because maybe you'll never grow hard an' callous. You're not to
blame. This is Texas. You're your father's son. These are wild times.
The law as the rangers are laying it down now can't change life all in a
minute. Even your mother, who's a good, true woman, has had her
share in making you what you are this moment. For she was one of the
pioneers--the fightin' pioneers of this state. Those years of wild times,
before you was born, developed in her instinct to fight, to save her life,
her children, an' that instinct has cropped out in you. It will be many
years before it dies out of the boys born in Texas."
"I'm a murderer," said Duane, shuddering.
"No, son, you're not. An' you never will be. But you've got to be an
outlaw till time makes it safe for you to come home."
"An outlaw?"
"I said it. If we had money an' influence we'd risk a trial. But we've
neither. An' I reckon the scaffold or jail is no place for Buckley Duane.
Strike for the wild country, an' wherever you go an' whatever you do-be
a man. Live honestly, if that's possible. If it isn't, be as honest as you
can. If you have to herd with outlaws try not to become bad. There are
outlaws who 're not all bad--many who have been driven to the river by
such a deal as this you had. When you get among these men avoid
brawls. Don't drink; don't gamble. I needn't tell you what to do if it
comes to gun-play, as likely it will. You can't come home. When this
thing is lived down, if that time ever comes, I'll get word into the
unsettled country. It'll reach you some day. That's all. Remember, be a
man. Goodby."

Duane, with blurred sight and contracting throat, gripped his uncle's
hand and bade him a wordless farewell. Then he leaped astride the
black and rode out of town.
As swiftly as was consistent with a care for his steed, Duane put a
distance of fifteen or eighteen miles behind him. With that he slowed
up, and the matter of riding did not require all his faculties. He passed
several ranches and was seen by men. This did not suit him, and he
took an old trail across country. It was a flat region with a poor growth
of mesquite and prickly-pear cactus. Occasionally he caught a glimpse
of low hills in the distance. He had hunted often in that section, and
knew where to find grass and water. When he reached this higher
ground he did not, however, halt at the first favorable camping-spot,
but went on and on. Once he came out upon the brow of a hill and saw
a considerable stretch of country beneath him. It had the gray sameness
characterizing all that he had traversed. He seemed to want to see wide
spaces--to get a glimpse of the great wilderness lying somewhere
beyond to the southwest. It was sunset when he decided to camp at a
likely spot he came across. He led the horse to water, and then began
searching through the shallow valley for a suitable place to camp. He
passed by old camp-sites that he well remembered. These, however, did
not strike his fancy this time, and the significance of the change in him
did not occur at the moment. At last he found a secluded spot, under
cover of thick mesquites and oaks, at a goodly distance from the old
trail. He took saddle and pack off the horse. He looked among his
effects for a hobble, and, finding that his uncle had failed to put one in,
he suddenly remembered that he seldom used a hobble, and never