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Updated: June 11, 2025
Never had his mind been so quick, so clear, so wonderful in its understanding of what had heretofore been intricate and elusive impulses of his strange nature. His determination was to meet Poggin; meet him before any one else had a chance Poggin first and then the others! He was as unalterable in that decision as if on the instant of its acceptance he had become stone. Why? Then came realization.
"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.
In their places came the images of the olive-skinned Longstreth with his sharp eyes, and the dark, evil-faced Lawson, and then returned tenfold more thrilling and sinister the old strange passion to meet Poggin. It was about one o'clock when Duane rode into Fairdale. The streets for the most part were deserted. He went directly to find Morton and Zimmer.
After that there was another long interval of darkness. When the light came again, clearer this time, the same earnest-faced man bent over him. It was MacNelly. And with recognition the past flooded back. Duane tried to speak. His lips were weak, and he could scarcely move them. "Poggin!" he whispered. His first real conscious thought was for Poggin. Ruling passion eternal instinct!
To forget her, to get back his nerve, he forced into mind the image of Poggin-Poggin, the tawny-haired, the yellow-eyed, like a jaguar, with his rippling muscles. He brought back his sense of the outlaw's wonderful presence, his own unaccountable fear and hate. Yes, Poggin had sent the cold sickness of fear to his marrow. Why, since he hated life so? Poggin was his supreme test.
But I doubt if any outlaw there, possibly excepting Buck Duane, ever equaled Poggin. You've heard of this Duane?" "Yes, a little," replied Duane, quietly. "I'm from southern Texas. Buck Duane then is known out here?" "Why, man, where isn't his name known?" returned Colonel Webb. "I've kept track of his record as I have all the others.
He had killed thirty men wildest rumor of all it was actually said of him he had the gun-skill of Buck Duane or of Poggin. At first there had not only been great conjecture among the vicious element, but also a very decided checking of all kinds of action calculated to be conspicuous to a keen-eyed ranger.
Knell did not even ask for the dates again. "Suppose Poggin or me might be detained?" he asked. Longstreth bent a dark glance upon his lieutenant. "You never can tell what'll come off," continued Knell. "I'll do my best." "The minute you see Poggin tell him. A job on hand steadies him. And I say again look to it that nothing happens. Either you or Poggin carry the job through.
He thought he pulled a stroke with Knell. But nobody on earth, not even the boss, had any influence on Poggin. Poggin was concentrated ice part of the time; all the rest he was bursting hell. But Poggin loved a horse. He never loved anything else. He could be won with that black horse Bullet. Cheseldine was already won by Duane's monumental nerve; otherwise he would have killed Duane.
"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."
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