The Lone Star Ranger and the Mysterious Rider Read Online Free Page B

feller, an’ I’m shore not presumin’ to ask. But I jest declares myself sufficient.”
    â€œYou mean you’d like me to go with you?” asked Duane.
    Stevens grinned. “Wal, I should smile. I’d be particular proud to be braced with a man of your reputation.”
    â€œSee here, my good fellow, that’s all nonsense,” declared Duane, in some haste.
    â€œShore I think modesty becomin’ to a youngster,” replied Stevens. “I hate a brag. An’ I’ve no use fer these four-flush cowboys thet ’re always lookin’ fer trouble an’ talkin’ gun-play. Buck, I don’t know much about you. But every man who’s lived along the Texas border remembers a lot about your dad. It was expected of you, I reckon, an’ much of your rep was established before you throwed your gun. I jest heerd that you was lightnin’ on the draw, an’ when you cut loose with a gun, why the figger on the ace of spades would cover your cluster of bullet-holes. Thet’s the word thet’s gone down the border. It’s the kind of reputation most sure to fly far an’ swift ahead of a man in this country. An’ the safest, too; I’ll gamble on thet. It’s the land of the draw. I see now you’re only a boy, though you’re shore a strappin’ husky one. Now, Buck, I’m not a spring chicken, an’ I’ve been long on the dodge. Mebbe a little of my society won’t hurt you none. You’ll need to learn the country.”
    There was something sincere and likable about this outlaw.
    â€œI dare say you’re right,” replied Duane, quietly. “And I’ll go to Mercer with you.”
    Next moment he was riding down the road with Stevens. Duane had never been much of a talker, and now he found speech difficult. But his companion did not seem to mind that. He was a jocose, voluble fellow, probably glad now to hear the sound of his own voice. Duane listened, and sometimes he thought with a pang of the distinction of name and heritage of blood his father had left to him.

CHAPTER 3
    Late that day, a couple of hours before sunset, Duane and Stevens, having rested their horses in the shade of some mesquites near the town of Mercer, saddled up and prepared to move.
    â€œBuck, as we’re lookin’ fer grub, an’ not trouble, I reckon you’d better hang up out here,” Stevens was saying, as he mounted. “You see, towns an’ sheriffs an’ rangers are always lookin’ fer new fellers gone bad. They sort of forget most of the old boys, except those as are plumb bad. “Now nobody in Mercer will take notice of me. Reckon there’s been a thousand men run into the river country to become outlaws since yours truly. You jest wait here an’ be ready to ride hard. Mebbe my besettin’ sin will go operatin’ in spite of my good intentions. In which case there’ll be—”
    His pause was significant. He grinned, and his brown eyes danced with a kind of wild humor.
    â€œStevens, have you got any money?” asked Duane.
    â€œMoney!” exclaimed Luke, blankly. “Say, I haven’t owned a two-bit piece since—wal, fer some time.”
    â€œI’ll furnish money for grub,” returned Duane. “And for whisky, too, providing you hurry back here—without making trouble.”
    â€œShore you’re a downright good pard,” declared Stevens, in admiration, as he took the money. “I give my word, Buck, an’ I’m here to say I never broke it yet. Lay low, an’ look fer me back quick.”
    With that he spurred his horse and rode out of the mesquites toward the town. At that distance, about a quarter of a mile, Mercer appeared to be a cluster of low adobe houses set in a grove of cottonwoods. Pastures of alfalfa were dotted by horses and cattle. Duane saw a sheep-herder driving in a meager flock.
    Presently Stevens rode out of sight