Duane left the hall, elbowed his way through the crowd, and went down the street. He was certain that on the faces of some men he had seen ill-concealed wonder and satisfaction. He had struck some kind of a hot trait, and he meant to see where it led. It was by no means unlikely that Cheseldine might be at the other end. Duane controlled a mounting eagerness. But ever and anon it was shot through with a remembrance of Ray Longstreth. He suspected her father of being not what he pretended. He might, very probably would, bring sorrow and shame to this young woman. The thought made him smart with pain. She began to haunt him, and then he was thinking more of her beauty and sweetness than of the disgrace he might bring upon her. Some strange emotion, long locked inside Duane's heart, knocked to be heard, to be let out. He was troubled.
Upon returning to the inn he found Laramie there, apparently none the worse for his injury.
"How are you, Laramie?" he asked.
"Reckon I'm feelin' as well as could be expected," replied Laramie. His head was circled by a bandage that did not conceal the lump where he had been struck. He looked pale, but was bright enough.
"That was a good crack Snecker gave you," remarked Duane.
"I ain't accusin' Bo," remonstrated Laramie, with eyes that made Duane thoughtful.
"Well, I accuse him. I caught him--took him to Longstreth's court. But they let him go."Laramie appeared to be agitated by this intimation of friendship.
"See here, Laramie," went on Duane, "in some parts of Texas it's policy to be close-mouthed. Policy and health-preserving!
Between ourselves, I want you to know I lean on your side of the fence."Laramie gave a quick start. Presently Duane turned and frankly met his gaze. He had startled Laramie out of his habitual set taciturnity; but even as he looked the light that might have been amaze and joy faded out of his face, leaving it the same old mask. Still Duane had seen enough. Like a bloodhound he had a scent.
"Talking about work, Laramie, who'd you say Snecker worked for?""I didn't say."
"Well, say so now, can't you? Laramie, you're powerful peevish to-day. It's that bump on your head. Who does Snecker work for?""When he works at all, which sure ain't often, he rides for Longstreth.""Humph! Seems to me that Longstreth's the whole circus round Fairdale. I was some sore the other day to find I was losing good money at Longstreth's faro game. Sure if I'd won Iwouldn't have been sore--ha, ha! But I was surprised to hear some one say Longstreth owned the Hope So joint.""He owns considerable property hereabouts," replied Laramie, constrainedly.
"Humph again! Laramie, like every other fellow I meet in this town, you're afraid to open your trap about Longstreth.Get me straight, Laramie. I don't care a damn for Colonel Mayor Longstreth. And for cause I'd throw a gun on him just as quick as on any rustler in Pecos.""Talk's cheap," replied Laramie, making light of his bluster, but the red was deeper in his face.
"Sure. I know that," Duane said. "And usually I don't talk.
Then it's not well known that Longstreth owns the Hope So?""Reckon it's known in Pecos, all right. But Longstreth's name isn't connected with the Hope So. Blandy runs the place.""That Blandy. His faro game's crooked, or I'm a locoed bronch.
Not that we don't have lots of crooked faro-dealers. A fellow can stand for them. But Blandy's mean, back-handed, never looks you in the eyes. That Hope So place ought to be run by a good fellow like you, Laramie.""Thanks," replied he; and Duane imagined his voice a little husky. "Didn't you hear I used to run it?""No. Did you?" Duane said, quickly.
"I reckon. I built the place, made additions twice, owned it for eleven years.""Well, I'll be doggoned." It was indeed Duane's turn to be surprised, and with the surprise came a glimmering. "I'm sorry you're not there now. Did you sell out?""No. Just lost the place."
Laramie was bursting for relief now--to talk, to tell. Sympathy had made him soft.
"It was two years ago-two years last March," he went on. "I was in a big cattle deal with Longstreth. We got the stock--an' my share, eighteen hundred head, was rustled off. I owed Longstreth. He pressed me. It come to a lawsuit--an' I--was ruined.
It hurt Duane to look at Laramie. He was white, and tears rolled down his cheeks. Duane saw the bitterness, the defeat, the agony of the man. He had failed to meet his obligations;nevertheless, he had been swindled. All that he suppressed, all that would have been passion had the man's spirit not been broken, lay bare for Duane to see. He had now the secret of his bitterness. But the reason he did not openly accuse Longstreth, the secret of his reticence and fear--these Duane thought best to try to learn at some later time.
"Hard luck! It certainly was tough," Duane said. "But you're a good loser. And the wheel turns! Now, Laramie, here's what. Ineed your advice. I've got a little money. But before I lose it I want to invest some. Buy some stock, or buy an interest in some rancher's herd. What I want you to steer me on is a good square rancher. Or maybe a couple of ranchers, if there happen to be two honest ones. Ha, ha! No deals with ranchers who ride in the dark with rustlers! I've a hunch Fairdale is full of them. Now, Laramie, you've been here for years. Sure you must know a couple of men above suspicion.""Thank God I do," he replied, feelingly. "Frank Morton an' Si Zimmer, my friends an' neighbors all my prosperous days, an' friends still. You can gamble on Frank and Si. But if you want advice from me--don't invest money in stock now.""Why?"
"Because any new feller buyin' stock these days will be rustled quicker 'n he can say Jack Robinson. The pioneers, the new cattlemen--these are easy pickin' for the rustlers. Lord knows all the ranchers are easy enough pickin'. But the new fellers have to learn the ropes. They don't know anythin' or anybody.
An' the old ranchers are wise an' sore. They'd fight if they--""What?" Duane put in, as he paused. "If they knew who was rustling the stock?""Nope."
