“Why don't you stay with me? I've got a comfortable 'dobe over here. Didn't I stick by you when Guthrie an' his bunch come up? Supposin' I hedn't showed down a cold hand to him? You'd be swingin' somewheres now. I tell you, Dodge, it ain't square.”
“I'll square it. I pay my debts,” replied Duane. “But I can't put up here all night. If I belonged to the gang it 'd be different.”
Fletcher's beard nodded as his jaw dropped.
Duane laughed. “I run into him the other day. Knowed him on sight. Sure, he's the king-pin rustler. When he seen me an' asked me what reason I had for bein' on earth or some such like--why, I up an' told him.”
“Who in all-fired hell air you talkin' about?”
“Didn't I tell you once? Cheseldine. He calls himself Longstreth over there.”
All of Fletcher's face not covered by hair turned a dirty white. “Cheseldine--Longstreth!” he whispered, hoarsely. “Gord Almighty! You braced the--” Then a remarkable transformation came over the outlaw. He gulped; he straightened his face; he controlled his agitation. But he could not send the healthy brown back to his face. Duane, watching this rude man, marveled at the change in him, the sudden checking movement, the proof of a wonderful fear and loyalty. It all meant Cheseldine, a master of men!
“WHO AIR YOU?” queried Fletcher, in a queer, strained voice.
“You gave me a handle, didn't you? Dodge. Thet's as good as any. Shore it hits me hard. Jim, I've been pretty lonely for years, an' I'm gettin' in need of pals. Think it over, will you? See you manana.”
The outlaw watched Duane go off after his horse, watched him as he returned to the tavern, watched him ride out into the darkness--all without a word.
Duane left the town, threaded a quiet passage through cactus and mesquite to a spot he had marked before, and made ready for the night. His mind was so full that he found sleep aloof. Luck at last was playing his game. He sensed the first slow heave of a mighty crisis. The end, always haunting, had to be sternly blotted from thought. It was the approach that needed all his mind.
He passed the night there, and late in the morning, after watching trail and road from a ridge, he returned to Ord. If Jim Fletcher tried to disguise his surprise the effort was a failure. Certainly he had not expected to see Duane again. Duane allowed himself a little freedom with Fletcher, an attitude hitherto lacking.