The Benson signal., 1916-11-04
THE LONE STAR RANGER
A Thrilling Texas Border Story
By ZANE GREY

his latter remark was significant to a
class of men who from inclination and
necessity practiced at gun-drawing un-
til they wore callOus and sore places
on their thumbs and inculcated in the
very deeps of their nervous organiza-
ton a habit that made even the SIM
plest and most innocent motion of the
hand end at or near the hip. There
was something remarkable about a
gun-fghter's hand. 1t never seemed to
be gloved, never to be injured, never
out of sight or in an awkward posi-
ton. Grizzled outlaws in that group,
some of whom had many notches on
their gun-handles, accorded Duane
silence that carried conviction of the
regard in which he was held.
"Orful hot, amt it?" remarked Bill
Black, presently. Bill could not keep
quiet for long. He was a typical
Texas desperate, had never been any
thing else. He was stoop-shouldered
and bow-legged from much riding; a
wiry little man, all muscle, with a
square head, hard face partly black
from scrubby beard and red from sun,
and a bright, rowing, cruel eye. His
grizzled breast.
--LATEST outfit ever rustled WITH"
went on Bill, discontentedly. "Nuthin'
to do! Say, if anybody wants to swim
maybe some of you'll gambler"
He produced a dirty pack of cards
and waved them at the motionless
crowd.
"Bill, you're too good at cards." re-
piled lanky outlaw.
Snow, Jasper, you say thet power
full sweet, an you look sweet, er I
might take it to heart" replied Black,
with sudden change Of tone.
Here it was again-that upfashing
passion. What Jasper saw fit to reply
would mollify the outlaw or it would
not. There was an even balance.
"No offense, Bill" said Jasper,
placidly, without moving.
Bill grunted and forgot Jasper. But
he seemed restless and dissatisfied.
Duane watching the disgruntled out
law, marveled at him and wondered
what was in his mind. These men
were more variable than children, as
unstable as water, as dangerous as
dynamite.
"Bill, I'll bet you ten you can't spill
whatever's in the bucket thet poems
packin'," said the outlaw called Jim.
Blacks head came up with the ac-
ton of a hawk about to swoop.
Duane glanced from Black to the
road, where he saw crippled peon
carrying a tin bucket toward the river.
This peon was a half-witted Indian
who lived in a shack and did odd jobs
for the Mexicans. Duane had met him
often.
"Jim, I'll take you up" replied
Black.
Something, perhaps harshness in
his voice, caused Duane to whirl. He
caught leaping gleam- in the outlaws
eye.
"Aw, Bill, thet's too fur a shot,"
said Jasper, as Black rested an elbow
on his knee and sighted over the long,
heavy Colt The distance to the peon
was about fifty PAGES, too far for even
rre most expert shot to hit moving
object so small as a bucket.
Duane, marvelously keen in the
alignment of sights, was positive that
Black held too high. Another look at
the hard face, now tense and dark
with blood, confirmed Duane's sus-
picion that the outlaw was not aiming
at the bucket at all. Duane leaped
and struck the level gun out of his
hand. Another outlaw picked it up.
Black fell back astounded. De-
prived of his weapon, he did not seem
the same man, or else he was cowed
by Duane's significant and formidable
front. Sullenly he turned away with
out even asking for his gun.