So it was in him, then-an inherited fighting instinct, a driving
intensity to kill. He was the last of the Duanes, that old fighting
stock of Texas. But not the memory of his dead father, nor the
pleading of his soft-voiced mother, nor the warning of this uncle
who stood before him now, had brought to Buck Duane so much
realization of the dark passionate strain in his blood. It was the
recurrence, a hundred-fold increased in power, of a strange emotion
that for the last three years had arisen in him. "Yes, Cal Bain's
in town, full of bad whisky an' huntin' for you," repeated 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?" demanded Duane. "To insult me again? I
won't stand that twice." "He's got a fever that's rampant in Texas
these days, my boy. He wants gun-play. If he meets you he'll try to
kill you." Here it stirred in Duane again, that bursting gush of
blood, like a wind of flame shaking all his inner being, and
subsiding to leave him strangely chilled. "Kill me What for?" he
asked. "Lord knows there ain't any reason. But what's that to do
with most of the shootin' these days? Didn't five cowboys over to
Everall's kill one another dead all because they got to jerkin' at
a quirt among themselves? An' Cal has no reason to love you. His
girl was sweet on you." "I quit when I found out she was his girl."
"I reckon she ain't quit. But never mind her or reasons. Cal's
here, just drunk enough to be ugly. He's achin' to kill somebody.
He's one of them four-flush gun-fighters. He'd like to be thought
bad. There's a lot of wild cowboys who're ambitious for a
reputation. They talk about how quick they are on the draw. T hey
ape Bland an' King Fisher an' Hardin an' all the big outlaws. They
make threats about joinin' the gangs along the Rio Grande. They
laugh at the sheriffs an' brag about how they'd fix the rangers.
Cal's sure not much for you to bother with, if you only keep out of
his way." "You mean for me to run?" asked Duane, in scorn. "I
reckon I wouldn't put it that way. Just avoid him. Buck, I'm not
afraid Cal would get you if you met down there in town. You've your
father's eye an' his slick hand with a gun. What I'm most afraid of
is that you'll kill Bain." Duane was silent, letting his uncle's
earnest words sink in, trying to realize their significance.
Is the information for this product incomplete, wrong or inappropriate?
Let us know about it.
Does this product have an incorrect or missing image?
Send us a new image.
Is this product missing categories?
Add more categories.
Review This Product
No reviews yet - be the first to create one!