The Lone Star Ranger and the Mysterious Rider Read Online Free PDF Page A

into the town. Duane waited, hoping the outlaw would make good his word. Probably not a quarter of an hour had elapsed when Duane heard the clear reports of a Winchester rifle, the clatter of rapid hoof-beats, and yells unmistakably the kind to mean danger for a man like Stevens. Duane mounted and rode to the edge of the mesquites.
    He saw a cloud of dust down the road and a bay horse running fast. Stevens apparently had not been wounded by any of the shots, for he had a steady seat in his saddle and his riding, even at that moment, struck Duane as admirable. He carried a large pack over the pommel, and he kept looking back. The shots had ceased, but the yells increased. Duane saw several men running and waving their arms. Then he spurred his horse and got into a swift stride, so Stevens would not pass him. Presently the outlaw caught up with him. Stevens was grinning, but there was now no fun in the dancing eyes. It was a devil that danced in them. His face seemed a shade paler.
    â€œWas jest comin’ out of the store,” yelled Stevens. “Run plumb into a rancher—who knowed me. He opened up with a rifle. Think they’ll chase us.”
    They covered several miles before there were any signs of pursuit, and when horsemen did move into sight out of the cottonwoods Duane and his companion steadily drew farther away.
    â€œNo hosses in thet bunch to worry us,” called out Stevens.
    Duane had the same conviction, and he did not look back again. He rode somewhat to the fore, and was constantly aware of the rapid thudding of hoofs behind, as Stevens kept close to him. At sunset they reached the willow brakes and the river. Duane’s horse was winded and lashed with sweat and lather. It was not until the crossing had been accomplished that Duane halted to rest his animal. Stevens was riding up the low, sandy bank. He reeled in the saddle. With an exclamation of surprise Duane leaped off and ran to the outlaw’s side.
    Stevens was pale, and his face bore beads of sweat. The whole front of his shirt was soaked with blood.
    â€œYou’re shot!” cried Duane.
    â€œWal, who ’n hell said I wasn’t? Would you mind givin’ me a lift—on this here pack?”
    Duane lifted the heavy pack down and then helped Stevens to dismount. The outlaw had a bloody foam on his lips, and he was spitting blood.
    â€œOh, why didn’t you say so!” cried Duane. “I never thought. You seemed all right.”
    â€œWal, Luke Stevens may be as gabby as an old woman, but sometimes he doesn’t say anythin’. It wouldn’t have done no good.”
    Duane bade him sit down, removed his shirt, and washed the blood from his breast and back. Stevens had been shot in the breast, fairly low down, and the bullet had gone clear through him. His ride, holding himself and that heavy pack in the saddle, had been a feat little short of marvelous. Duane did not see how it had been possible, and he felt no hope for the outlaw. But he plugged the wounds and bound them tightly.
    â€œFeller’s name was Brown,” Stevens said. “Me an’ him fell out over a hoss I stole from him over in Huntsville. We had a shootin’-scrape then. Wal, as I was saddlin’ my hoss back there in Mercer I seen this Brown, an’ seen him before he seen me. Could have killed him, too. But I wasn’t breakin’ my word to you. I kind of hoped he wouldn’t spot me. But he did—an’ fust shot he got me here. What do you think of this hole?”
    â€œIt’s pretty bad,” replied Duane; and he could not look the cheerful outlaw in the eyes.
    â€œI reckon it is. Wal, I’ve had some bad wounds I lived over. Guess mebbe I can stand this one. Now, Buck, get me some place in the brakes, leave me some grub an’ water at my hand, an’ then you clear out.”
    â€œLeave you here alone?” asked Duane, sharply.
    â€œShore. You see, I can’t keep up with