When Duane reached the crossing of the roads the name Fairfield on the sign-post seemed to be the thing that tipped the oscillating balance of decision in favor of that direction.
He answered here to unfathomable impulse. If he had been driven to hunt up Jeff Aiken, now he was called to find this unknown ranger captain. In Duane's state of mind clear reasoning, common sense, or keenness were out of the question. He went because he felt he was compelled.
Dusk had fallen when he rode into a town which inquiry discovered to be Fairfield. Captain MacNelly's camp was stationed just out of the village limits on the other side.
No one except the boy Duane questioned appeared to notice his arrival. Like Shirley, the town of Fairfield was large and prosperous, compared to the innumerable hamlets dotting the vast extent of southwestern Texas. As Duane rode through, being careful to get off the main street, he heard the tolling of a church-bell that was a melancholy reminder of his old home.
There did not appear to be any camp on the outskirts of the town. But as Duane sat his horse, peering around and undecided what further move to make, he caught the glint of flickering lights through the darkness. Heading toward them, he rode perhaps a quarter of a mile to come upon a grove of mesquite.
The brightness of several fires made the surrounding darkness all the blacker. Duane saw the moving forms of men and heard horses. He advanced naturally, expecting any moment to be halted.
"Who goes there?" came the sharp call out of the gloom.
Duane pulled his horse. The gloom was impenetrable.
"One man--alone," replied Duane.
"A stranger?"
"Yes."
"What do you want?"
"I'm trying to find the ranger camp."
"You've struck it. What's your errand?"
"I want to see Captain MacNelly."
"Get down and advance. Slow. Don't move your hands. It's dark, but I can see."Duane dismounted, and, leading his horse, slowly advanced a few paces. He saw a dully bright object--a gun--before he discovered the man who held it. A few more steps showed a dark figure blocking the trail. Here Duane halted.
"Come closer, stranger. Let's have a look at you," the guard ordered, curtly.
Duane advanced again until he stood before the man. Here the rays of light from the fires flickered upon Duane's face.
"Reckon you're a stranger, all right. What's your name and your business with the Captain?"Duane hesitated, pondering what best to say.
"Tell Captain MacNelly I'm the man he's been asking to ride into his camp--after dark," finally said Duane.
The ranger bent forward to peer hard at this night visitor. His manner had been alert, and now it became tense.
"Come here, one of you men, quick," he called, without turning in the least toward the camp-fire.
"Hello! What's up, Pickens?" came the swift reply. It was followed by a rapid thud of boots on soft ground. A dark form crossed the gleams from the fire-light. Then a ranger loomed up to reach the side of the guard. Duane heard whispering, the purport of which he could not catch. The second ranger swore under his breath. Then he turned away and started back.
"Here, ranger, before you go, understand this. My visit is peaceful--friendly if you'll let it be. Mind, I was asked to come here--after dark."Duane's clear, penetrating voice carried far. The listening rangers at the camp-fire heard what he said.
"Ho, Pickens! Tell that fellow to wait," replied an authoritative voice. Then a slim figure detached itself from the dark, moving group at the camp-fire and hurried out.
"Better be foxy, Cap," shouted a ranger, in warning.
"Shut up--all of you," was the reply.
This officer, obviously Captain MacNelly, soon joined the two rangers who were confronting Duane. He had no fear. He strode straight up to Duane.
"I'm MacNelly," he said. "If you're my man, don't mention your name--yet."All this seemed so strange to Duane, in keeping with much that had happened lately.
"I met Jeff Aiken to-day," said Duane. "He sent me--""You've met Aiken!" exclaimed MacNelly, sharp, eager, low. "By all that's bully!" Then he appeared to catch himself, to grow restrained.
"Men, fall back, leave us alone a moment."
The rangers slowly withdrew.
"Buck Duane! It's you?" he whispered, eagerly.
"Yes."
"If I give my word you'll not be arrested--you'll be treated fairly--will you come into camp and consult with me?""Certainly."
"Duane, I'm sure glad to meet you," went on MacNelly; and he extended his hand.
Amazed and touched, scarcely realizing this actuality, Duane gave his hand and felt no unmistakable grip of warmth.
"It doesn't seem natural, Captain MacNelly, but I believe I'm glad to meet you," said Duane, soberly.
"You will be. Now we'll go back to camp. Keep your identity mum for the present."He led Duane in the direction of the camp-fire.
"Pickers, go back on duty," he ordered, "and, Beeson, you look after this horse."When Duane got beyond the line of mesquite, which had hid a good view of the camp-site, he saw a group of perhaps fifteen rangers sitting around the fires, near a long low shed where horses were feeding, and a small adobe house at one side.
"We've just had grub, but I'll see you get some. Then we'll talk," said MacNelly. "I've taken up temporary quarters here.
Have a rustler job on hand. Now, when you've eaten, come right into the house."Duane was hungry, but he hurried through the ample supper that was set before him, urged on by curiosity and astonishment. The only way he could account for his presence there in a ranger's camp was that MacNelly hoped to get useful information out of him. Still that would hardly have made this captain so eager.
There was a mystery here, and Duane could scarcely wait for it to be solved. While eating he had bent keen eyes around him.
After a first quiet scrutiny the rangers apparently paid no more attention to him. They were all veterans in service--Duane saw that--and rugged, powerful men of iron constitution.
