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Updated: June 2, 2025
Duane's vigilance, momentarily broken by emotion, had no sooner reasserted itself than he discovered the bay horse, the one Jennie rode, had broken his halter and gone off. The soft wet earth had deadened the sound of his hoofs. His tracks were plain in the mud. There were clumps of mesquite in sight, among which the horse might have strayed. It turned out, however, that he had not done so.
The far end slipped off the willows with a little splash and gradually settled to rest upon the bottom. But it sank no farther, and Duane's greatest concern was relieved. However, as it was manifestly impossible for him to keep his head up for long he carefully crawled out upon the plank until he could rest an arm and shoulder upon the willows.
Duane stole through the bushes and trees, and when nearing the porch he heard loud, angry, familiar voices. Longstreth and Lawson were quarreling again. How Duane's lucky star guided him! He had no plan of action, but his brain was equal to a hundred lightning-swift evolutions. He meant to take any risk rather than kill Longstreth. Both of the men were out on the porch.
Duane, reeling in his saddle, bent searching eyes upon the rancher. He thought he saw good will, kindness, honesty. He risked all on that one sharp glance. Then he almost plunged from the saddle. The rancher caught him, helped him to a bench. "Martha, come out here!" he called. "This man's sick. No; he's shot, or I don't know blood-stains." Jennie had slipped off her horse and to Duane's side.
What'll you do, son?" "God knows," replied Duane, hopelessly. "I'll make my money last as long as possible then starve." "Wal, I'm pretty pore, but you'll never starve while I got anythin'." Here it struck Duane again that something human and kind and eager which he had seen in Stevens. Duane's estimate of outlaws had lacked this quality. He had not accorded them any virtues.
There were two motives in Duane's action one of anger, and the other a desire to make a friend of this man Laramie, whom Duane believed could tell him much. Duane was light on his feet, and he had a giant stride. He gained rapidly upon Snecker, who, turning this way and that, could not get out of sight.
Duane's strained ears were pervaded by a slight rustling sound. "Must be a rat," replied Longstreth. The rustle became a rattle. "Sounds like a rattlesnake to me," said Lawson. Longstreth got up from the table and peered round the room. Just at that instant Duane felt an almost inappreciable movement of the adobe wall which supported him. He could scarcely credit his senses.
Starr asked Albumblatt, would not artillery strengthen the garrison? "Even a light battery," pronounced Augustus, promptly, "would be absurd and useless." Whereupon the mess rattled knives, sneezed, and became variously disturbed. So they called him Albumbattery, and then Blattery, which is more condensed; and Captain Duane's official tone availed him nothing in this matter.
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.
For like all parents, Duane's had been terribly excited over his infantile efforts at picture-making one of the commonest and earliest developed of talents, but which never fails to amaze and delight less gifted parents and which continues to overstock the world with mediocre artists.
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