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Duane shook his head. He had not been unfamiliar with whisky, and he had used tobacco moderately since he was sixteen. But now, strangely, he felt a disgust at the idea of stimulants. He did not understand clearly what he felt. There was that vague idea of something wild in his blood, something that made him fear himself. Euchre wagged his old head sympathetically. "Reckon you feel a little sick.
To Duane it seemed long in time and distance, and he had difficulty in restraining his pace. As he walked there came a gradual and subtle change in his feelings. Again he was going out to meet a man in conflict. He could have avoided this meeting. But despite the fact of his courting the encounter he had not as yet felt that hot, inexplicable rush of blood.
Instead of the servant returning, there came a click from the elevator, a quick step, and the master of the house himself walked swiftly into the room wearing hat and gloves. "What do you want?" he inquired briefly. "I want to ask you a question or two," said Duane, shocked at the change in Dysart's face.
From that point on to Fairdale there were only a few ranches, each one controlling great acreage. Early in the afternoon from a ridge-top Duane sighted Fairdale, a green patch in the mass of gray. For the barrens of Texas it was indeed a fair sight. But he was more concerned with its remoteness from civilization than its beauty.
"You you admitted that she attracted you for a little while.... Oh, I did forgive you, Jack; truly I did with all my miserable heart! I was so fearfully unhappy I would have done anything." ... Her face flushed scarlet. "And I did.... But you do love me, don't you?" And the next moment her lips were on his with a sob. Duane reached back and quietly unclasped her fingers.
Duane certainly meant to avoid ever meeting this Rodney Brown. And that very determination showed Duane how dangerous he really was to men and to himself. Sometimes he had a feeling of how little stood between his sane and better self and a self utterly wild and terrible. He reasoned that only intelligence could save him only a thoughtful understanding of his danger and a hold upon some ideal.
This proceeding served a double purpose he was safer, and the habit would look well in the eyes of outlaws, who would be more inclined to see in him the lone-wolf fugitive. Long since Duane had fought out a battle with himself, won a hard-earned victory. His outer life, the action, was much the same as it had been; but the inner life had tremendously changed.
"Take your troops and go, sir, and report to me when you have arrested your man." Then Duane went to the hospital, and out with the ambulance, hoping that the soldier might not be dead. But the wholesome irony of life reckons beyond our calculations; and the unreproachful, sunny face of his Sergeant evoked in Duane's memory many marches through long heat and cold, back in the rough, good times.
But Kathleen entered and stood beside the bed, looking down at her in the dim light. "Dearest," she began tremulously, "Duane told me you had a headache and had gone to your room to lie down, so I didn't disturb you " "Duane," faltered the girl, "is he here? What did he say?" "He was in the library before dinner when I came in, and he warned me not to waken you. Do you know what time it is?"
"My horses might betray you," added Duane. "I'll hide them in a place where there's water an' grass. Nobody goes to it. Come now, let me help you indoors." Duane's last fading sensations of that hard day were the strange feel of a bed, a relief at the removal of his heavy boots, and of Jennie's soft, cool hands on his hot face.
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