The Elbert County tribune., 1916-10-27
The Lone Star Ranger
A Fine Tale OF he Open Country BY ZANE GREY

conversation where he had left off the
night before.
"This trail splits up a ways from
here, an every branch of 1t leads to a
hole where you'll find men-a few,
mebbe. like yourself-some like me
an gangs OF no-good hoss thieves,
rustlers an such. It's easy livin', Buck
/ reckon, though. that you'll not find
it easy. You'll never mix In. You'll
be lone wolf. I seen that right off.
Wal, If a man can stand the loneliness,
an II he's quick on the draw. mebbe
lone-wolfin' is the best. Shore don't
know. But these fellers in here will
be suspicious of a man who goes 1t
alone. If they get chance they'll
kill you"
Steveps asked for water several
times. He had forgotten or he did not
want the whisky. His voice grew per-
ceptibly weaker.
"Be quiet" said Duane. "Talking
uses up your strength"
"Aw, I'll talk till,-Pm DONE" he re
piled, doggedly. "See here. pard, you
can gamble on what I'm tellin' you.
An it'll be useful. From this camp
we'll-you'n meet men right along. An
none of them will be honest men. All
the same, some are better'n others.
I've lived along the river for twelve
years. There's three big gangs of out
laws. King Fisher-you know him,
reckon, fer he's half the time livin'
among respectable folks. King is ii
good feller. It'll do to tie up with
him an his gang. Now. there's Chesel-
dine, who hangs out in the Rim Rock
way up the river. He's an outlaw
stayed once right in his camp. Late
years he's got rich, an keeps back
pretty well hid. But Bland-I knowed
Bland fer years. An 1 haven't any
use fer him. Bland has the biggest
gang. You amt likely to miss strilSin'
his place sometime or other. He's got
a regular town, I might say. Shore
there's some gamblin' an gun-fightin'
goin' on in BANDS camp all the time.
Bland has killed some twenty men, an
thet's not countin' greasers."
Here Stevens took another drink,
and then rested for a while.
"You amt likely to get on with
Bland" he resumed presently. you're
too strappin' big an good-lookin' to
please the chief. Fer he's got women
in his camp. Then he'd be jealous of
your possibilities with gun. Shore
reckon he'd be careful, though.
I reckon any of the other gangs would
be better for you when you amt goin'
it alone"
Apparently that exhausted the fund
of information and advice Stevens had
been eager to impart. He lapsed into
silence and lay with closed eyes.
Meanwhile the sun rose warm; the
breeze waved the mosquitoes; the birds
came down to splash in the shallow
seat. By and by something reused
him. Stevens was once more talking,
but with a changed tone.
"Fellers name-was Brown" he
rambled. "We fell out-over a boss
stole from HMM Huntsville. He
stole 1t fust. Browns one of them
sneaks-afraid of the open-he steals
an pretends to be honest. Say, Buck,
mebbe you'll meet Brown some day
You an me are pards now"
'Tll remember, If ever meet him."
said Duane.
That seemed to satisfy the outlaw.
Presently he tried to lift his head, but
had not the strength. A strange shade
was creeping across the bronzed,
rough face.
my feet are pretty heavy. Shore
you got my boots OFF,"
Duane held them up, but was not
certain that Stevens could see them.
The outlaw closed his eyes again and
muttered incoherently. Then he fell
asleep. Toward sundown Stevens
awoke, and his eyes seemed clearer.
Duane went to get some fresh water,
thinking his comrade would surely
want some. When he returned Stevens
made no sign that he wanted anything.
There was something bright about him,
and suddenly Duane realized what it
meant.
"Pard, you-stick-to mep' the out
law whispered.
Duane caught a hint of gladness
in the voice he traced n faint surprise
in the haggard face. Stevens seemed
| like a little child.
Duane buried him in shallow ar
royo and heaped up pile of stones
to mark the grave. That done, he
saddled his comrades horse, hung the
weapons over the pommel and, mount
ing his own steed. he rode down the
trail in the gathering twilight.
CHAPTER w.