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Updated: April 30, 2025
In that long moment of suspense Knell's body gradually stiffened, and at last the quivering ceased. He crouched. His eyes had a soul-piercing fire. Duane watched them. He waited. He caught the thought the breaking of Knell's muscle-bound rigidity. Then he drew. Through the smoke of his gun he saw two red spurts of flame. Knell's bullets thudded into the ceiling.
He neither looked nor listened, but boldly pushed the door and stepped inside. The big room was full of men, and every face pivoted toward him. Knell's pale face flashed into Duane's swift sight; then Boldt's, then Blossom Kane's, then Panhandle Smith's, then Fletcher's, then others that were familiar, and last that of Poggin. Though Duane had never seen Poggin or heard him described, he knew him.
You'll freeze, an' your hand'll be stiff when it ought to be lightnin' All because you'll realize you've been standin' there five minutes five minutes ALIVE before him!" If not hate, then assuredly great passion toward Poggin manifested itself in Knell's scornful, fiery address, in the shaking hand he thrust before Poggin's face. In the ensuing silent pause Knell's panting could be plainly heard.
The stranger appeared to grow a little resentful and drew himself up disdainfully. "Wal, considerin' you-all seem so damn friendly an' oncurious down here in this Big Bend country, I don't mind sayin' yes I am in on the dodge," he replied, with deliberate sarcasm. "From west of Ord out El Paso way, mebbe?" "Sure." "A-huh! Thet so?" Knell's words cut the air, stilled the room.
"Poggin, Blossom Kane, Panhandle Smith, Boldt, Jim Fletcher, and another man I don't know. These are the picked men of Cheseldine's gang. I'll bet they'll be the fastest, hardest bunch you rangers ever faced." "Poggin that's the hard nut to crack! I've heard their records since I've been in Val Verde. Where's Knell? They say he's a boy, but hell and blazes!" "Knell's dead."
"BUCK DUANE!" he yelled, suddenly. The name did not make any great difference in Poggin. But Knell's passionate, swift utterance carried the suggestion that the name ought to bring Poggin to quick action. It was possible, too, that Knell's manner, the import of his denunciation the meaning back of all his passion held Poggin bound more than the surprise.
"Buck Duane, do you remember Hardin?" he asked, in scarcely audible voice. "Yes," replied Duane, and a flash of insight made clear Knell's attitude. "You met him forced him to draw killed him?" "Yes." "Hardin was the best pard I ever had." His teeth clicked together tight, and his lips set in a thin line. The room grew still. Even breathing ceased. The time for words had passed.
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