j\|jlllustrated lyVertte C. Christy
Cast of Principal Characters in This Thrilling
Story by Zane Grey
Buck Duane The Last of the Duanes
Cal Bain - - - A Texas "Bad Man"
Luke Stevens An Outlaw
Bland * Leader of An Outlaw Group
Mrs. Bland His Wife
Jennie A Girl at Bland's Camp
Captain Mac Nelly - A Captain of the Rangers
Cheseldine A Dangerous Outlaw
So it was in him then—an inher- |
ited fighting instinct —a blood lust—
a driving intensity to kill. He was >
the last of the Duanes—that old I
fighting stock of Texas.
But not the memory of his dead {
father, nor the pleading of his soft- f
voiced mother, nor the warning of |
this uncle who stood before him now j
had brought so much to Duane reali
zation of the dark passionate strain
in his blood. It was the recurrence,
a hundredfold increased in power, of
a strange emotion that for the last
three years had taken possession of ;
him.
"Yes, Cal Bain's in town, full of j
bad whisky, an huntin' for you," re- ;
peated the elder man gravely.
"It's the second time," muttered ?
Duane, as if to himself.
"Son, you can't avoid a meetin'. {
Leave town till Cal sobers up. He
ain't got it in for you when he's not
drinkin'."
"But what's he want me for?" de- j
manded Duane. "To insult me again?!
I won't stand that twice."
i
"He's got a fever that's rampant in j
Texas these days, my boy. He wants j
gunplay. If he meets you he'll try to j
kill you."
Here it stirred Duane again—that
bursting gush of blood, like a wind of
flame shaking all his inner being,
and subsiding to leave him strangely
chilled.
As towns go, Wellston was small
enough, but important in that unset
tled part of the great State because
it was the trading center of several
hundred miles of territory. On the
main streeet there were perhaps fifty
buildings, some brick, some frame,
mostly adobe, and one-third of the
lot, by far the most were
saloons. From the road Duane turn
ed into the street.
It was a wide throughfare, lined
by hitching rails, and saddled horses,
and vehicles of various kinds.
Duane's eye ranged down the street,
taking in all at a glance, particularly
persons moving up and down. Not a
cowboy was in sight.
When he came to within fifty
paces of a saloon he swerved out
into the middle of the street, stood
there for a moment, then went ahead
!
j —""ii" 3I—JL | ,
! Suffering |i
!] With j!
SICK HEADACHES
j , j
Mr. Charles F. Todd, of Estes- : j
burg near Waynesburg, Ky.,says: : \
"I was suffering with nervous
headaches. About once a week
t- !
[ would have these headaches, '
and have to quit work, and go to j
bed for about twenty-four hours.
I would have pains in my neck,
I and right behind my right ear.
| ,r A merchant at Estesburg told z
| me to try taking Black-Draught, j
j which I did.
"It relieved mo. From that j
time on, I would take Black- j
a Draught as soon a3 I felt like I k
was going to h&ve one of those it
headaches—and they wouldn't ||
come on.
"Every few weeks, I take three £
or four doses of Black-Drauglit, j
!j and I feel so well, and do my !j
I work, and don't lose any more II
| time with headache."
; i Get a package today. r
I C-135 j
e=~==S SE J
and back to the sidewalk. He passed
on in this way the length of the
block.
Sol White was standing in the door
of his saloon. ,
"Buck, I'm a-tippin' you off," he |i
said, quick and low-voiced, "Cal
Bain's over at Everall's. If he's a i
huntin' you bad as he brags he'll
show there."
Duane knew himself to be cold, I
steady. He was consious of a strange 1
fury that made him want to leap
ahead. He seemed to long for this
encounter more than anything he
had ever wanted. But vivid as were
his sensations, he felt as if in a
dream. Before he reached Everall's
he heard loud voices, one of which
was l'aised high. Then the short
door swung outward as if impelled
by a vigorous hand. A bow-legged
cowboy, wearing woolly chaps, burst
out upon the sidewalk. At sight of
Duane he seemed to bound into the
air and he let out a savage roar.
If Bain was drunk he did not show
it in his movements. Red, sweaty,
and disheveled, his face distorted and
expressive of the most malignant in
tent, he seemed a wild and sinister j
figure. He had already killed a man, j
and this appeared manifest in his
| demeanor.
i "Won't nothin' make you draw,
| you ?" he shouted.
"I'm waiting on you, Cal," replied
; Duane.
j Bain's right hand stiffened—mov
-1 ed. Duane threw his gun as. a boy
[throws a ball underhand a draw
his father had taught him. He pulled
twice his shots almost as one.
Bain's big Colt boomed while it
was pointed downward and he was
falling. His bullet scattered dust and
gravel at Duane's feet. Bain fell
loosely without contortion.
When he came to the gate of his
home and saw his uncle there with a
mettlesome horse, saddled, with can
teen, repe, and bags all in place, a
subtle shock pervaded Buck's spirit.
It had slipped his mind—the con
\ sequence of his act.
j But the sight of the horse, the look
lof his uncle recalled the fact that he
j must now'become a fugitive,
j "I am a murderer," said Duane,
' shuddering.
"No, son, you're not. An' you
f never will be. But you've got to be
j an out-law till time makes it safe for
i you to come home."
| Duane, with blurred sight and con
j tracting throat, gripped his uncle's
i hand and bade him a wordless fare-
I
j well. Then he leaped astride the
| black and rode out of town,
i When the heat of the day began to
Ibe oppressive, and hunger and
j thirst made themselves manifest,
j Duane began to look about him for a
j place to halt for the noon hour. The
I trail led into a road which was hard
packed and smooth from the tracks
| of cattle. He doubted not that he had
i come across one of the roads used by
! border raiders.
j He headed into it, and had scarce
|ly traveled a mile when turning a
curve, he came point-blank upon a
single horseman riding toward him.
"Mawnin', stranger," called the
man, dropping his hand from his
hip.
"Howdy," replied Duane shortly.
"I seen you ain't no ranger," call
ed the rider, an' shore I ain't none."
! He laughed loudly as if he had
j made a joke.
j He was small and wiry, slouchy
iof attire, and armed to the teeth,
| and he bestrode a fine horse. He had
| quick dancing brown eyes, at once
frank and bold, and a coarse bronzed
face. Evidently he was a good-na
tured ruffian.
"My name's Luke Stevens, an' I
hail from the river. Who're you?"
said this stranger.
Duane was silent.
I I "I reckon you're Buck Duane,"
THE FOREST CITY COURIER, THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 15, 1928
went on Stevens. "I heerd you was
a bad man with a gun."
This time Duane laughed, not at
the doubtful compliment, but at the
idea that the first outlaw he met
should know him.
"Wal, Buck," said Stevens, in a
friendly manner, "I ain't presumin'
on your time or company. I see
you're headin' for the river. But will
you stop long enough to stake a fel
low to a bite of grub?"
"I'm out of grub, and pretty hun
gry myself," admitted Duane. |
"Been pushin' your hoss, I see. !
Wal, I recon you'd better stock up |
before you hit thet stretch of coun-1
try."
, He made a wide sweep of his right
arm, indicating the southwest, and
there was that in his action which
seemed significant of a vast and bar
ren region.
"Stock up?" queried Duane
thoughtfully.
"Shore. A feller has jest got to |
eat. I can rustle along without whis
ky, but not without grub. Thet's \
what makes it so embarrassin' travel
in' these parts dodgin' your shadow.
Now I'm on my way to Mercer. It's
a little two-bit town up the river a
ways. I'm goin' to pack out some
grub.
"Stranger, in this here country
| two's a crowd. It's safer. I never
was much on this lone wolf dodgin'
though I've done it of necessity. It
takes a good man to travel alone any I
length of time. Why, I've been thet J
sick I was just achin' fer some ran-
ger to come along an' plug me. Give •
me a pardner any day. Now mebbe ]
you're not thet kind of a feller, an' j
I'm shore not presumin' to ask. But
11 jest declares myself sufficient."
J "You mean you'd like me to go
with you?" asked Duane.
Sevens grinned.
"Wal, I should smile. I'd be par
ticular proud to be braced with a
man of your reputation."
"See here, my good fellow, that's
all nonsense," declares Duane in
some haste.
"Shore I think modesty becomin'
to a youngster," replied Stevens. "I
hate a brag."
"But every man who's lived along
lthe Texas border remembers a lot
about your dad. It was expected of
you, I reckon, an' much of your rep
was established before you throwed
your gun. I jest heerd thet you was
j lightin' on the draw, an' when you
cut loose with a gun why the figger
on the ace of spades would cover
your cluster of bullet holes. Thet's
the word thet's gone down the bor
der.
"It's the kind of reputation most
sure to fly far an' swift ahead of a
j man I'll gamble on thet. It's the land
jof in this country. An' the safest,
(too, the draw! I see now you're only
'a boy, though you're shore a strap-
J pin', husky one. Now, Buck, I'm not
! a spring chicken, an' I've been long
jon the dodge. Mebby a little of my
j society won't hurt you none. You'll
i need to learn the country."
There was something sincere and
i likable about this outlaw.
"I dare say you're right," replied
Duane quietly, "and I'll go to Mercer
with you."
Next moment he was riding down
the road with Stevens.
"Stevens, have you got any
| money?" asked Duane.
"Money!" exclaimed Luke blankly,
j "Say, I haven't owned a two-bit since
i—wal, fer some time."
"I'll furnish money for grub," re-
J turned Duane. "And for whiskey,
too, providing you hurry back here—
without making trouble."
"Shore you're a downright good
pard," declared Stevens in admira
j tion as he took the money. "I give
| my word, Buck, an' I'm here to say I
never broke it yet. Lay low an' look
for me back quick."
Presently Stevens rode out of sight
into the town. Duane waited, hoping
, the outlaw would make good his
I word.
Probably not a quarter of an hour
[ had elapsed before Duane heard the
clear reports of a rifle, the clatter of
rapid hoofbeats, and yells unmistak
[ ably the kind to mean danger for a
' man like Stevens. Duane mounted
and rode to the edge of the mesquite.
He saw a cloud of dust down the
road and a bay "norse running fast.
Stevens apparently had not been
wounded by any of the shots, for he .
had a steady seat in his saddle, and J
his riding struck Duane as admirable.!
He carried a large pack over the j
pommel and he kept looking back. |
The shots had ceased but the yells '
increased. Duane saw several men
running and waving their arms. Then j
he spurred his horse and got into a
swift stride so Stevens would not 1
pass him. Presently the outlaw j
caught up with him.
"Was jest comin' out of the store," J
yelled Stevens. "Run plumb into a )
rancher who knowed me. He opened •
up with a rifle. Think they'll chase I
us."
They covered several miles before j
there were any signs of pursuit, and
when horsemen did move into sight
out of the cottonwoods, Duane and
his companion drew further away.
Stevens was pale and his face bore
beads of sweat. The whole front of
his shirt was soaked with blood.
"You're shot!" cried Duane.
"Wal, who'n hell said I wasn't?
Would you mind givin' me a lift—on
this here pack?"
Duane lifted the heavy pack down j
and then helped Stevens to dismount.
The outlaw had a bloody foam on his
lips and he was spitting blood.
"Oh! why didn't you say so?" cried
Duane. "I never thought. You seem
ed all right."
"Wal, Luke Stevens may be as
gabby as an old woman —but some- I
times—he doesn't say anythin'. It j
1 wouldn't have done no good."
I (Continued Next Week)
*
Mussolini says the newspapers
| may not criticize his government,
j but may say anything they want to j
I about his violin playing. However, we ;
i doubt that the Italian papers want to !
■ fiddle around with that.
it* iifigw ■ a * t i-tt tw j v, m*..n«r^vittu jbwvjntst r*. Jn^.i^?Arfga«r-a— w■—wr.am——■
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