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Updated: June 11, 2025
In the latter case his one chance lay in the fatality connected with his name, in his power to look it and act it. Duane had never dreamed of any sleuth-hound tendency in his nature, but now he felt something like one. Above all others his mind fixed on Poggin Poggin the brute, the executor of Cheseldine's will, but mostly upon Poggin the gunman. This in itself was a warning to Duane.
"No, I don't understand that," replied MacNelly, bluntly. "It can't be done. The drop can't be got on such men. If you meet them they shoot, and mighty quick and straight. Poggin! That outlaw has no equal with a gun unless He's got to be killed quick. They'll all have to be killed. They're all bad, desperate, know no fear, are lightning in action." "Very well, Duane; then it's a fight.
Longstreth rose presently and reached for a flask, from which he drank, then offered it to Knell. He waved it aside. "Knell," began the chief, slowly, as he wiped his lips, "I gathered you have some grudge against this Buck Duane." "Yes." "Well, don't be a fool now and do what Poggin or almost any of you men would don't meet this Buck Duane. I've reason to believe he's a Texas Ranger now."
His fame in this country appears to hang on his matchless gun-play and his enmity toward outlaw chiefs. I've heard many a rancher say: 'I wish to God that Buck Duane would drift out here! I'd give a hundred pesos to see him and Poggin meet. It's a singular thing, stranger, how jealous these great outlaws are of each other." "Yes, indeed, all about them is singular," replied Duane.
Who was goin' to be first? Who was goin' to make him draw? Not you, Poggin! You leave that for a lesser man me who've lived to see you a coward. It comes once to every gunman. You've met your match in Buck Duane. An', by God, I'm glad! Here's once I show you up!" The hoarse, taunting voice failed. Knell stepped back from the comrade he hated. He was wet, shaking, haggard, but magnificent.
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.
He felt terrible forces at work within him. There was the stern and indomitable resolve to make MacNelly's boast good to the governor of the state to break up Cheseldine's gang. Yet this was not in Duane's mind before a strange grim and deadly instinct which he had to drive away for fear he would find in it a passion to kill Poggin, not for the state, nor for his word to MacNelly, but for himself.
As he was confronted by the fact it nonplussed him somewhat, and he became thoughtful, with lowered head. "Where'll you wait, Duane?" insisted MacNelly, with keen eyes speculating. "I'll wait in front, just inside the door," replied Duane, with an effort. "Why?" demanded the Captain. "Well," began Duane, slowly, "Poggin will get down first and start in. But the others won't be far behind.
Again Duane caught a vague rumor of the coming of Poggin, yet he never seemed to arrive. Moreover, the goings-on among the habitues of the resorts and the cowboys who came in to drink and gamble were unusually mild in comparison with former conduct. This lull, however, did not deceive Duane. It could not last. The wonder was that it had lasted so long. Duane went often to see Mrs.
The latter half of that ride Duane had observed a wagon-road running parallel with the railroad, sometimes right alongside, at others near or far away. When the train was about twenty miles from Val Verde Duane espied a dark group of horsemen trotting eastward. His blood beat like a hammer at his temples. The gang! He thought he recognized the tawny Poggin and felt a strange inward contraction.
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