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The stage made three stops in the forenoon, one at a place where the horses
could be watered, the second at a chuck-wagon belonging to cowboys who were
riding after stock, and the third at a small cluster of adobe and stone houses
constituting a hamlet the driver called Longstreth, named after the Colonel.
From that point on to Fairdale there were only a few ranches, each one
controlling great acreage.
Early in the afternoon from a ridge-top Duane sighted Fairdale, a green
patch in the mass of gray. For the barrens of Texas it was indeed a fair
sight. But he was more concerned with its remoteness from civilization than
its beauty. At that time, in the early seventies, when the vast western third
of Texas was a wilderness, the pioneer had done wonders to settle there and
establish places like Fairdale.
It needed only a glance for Duane to pick out Colonel Longstreth's ranch.
The house was situated on the only elevation around Fairdale, and it was not
high, nor more than a few minutes' walk from the edge of the town. It was a
low, flat-roofed structure made of red adobe bricks, and covered what appeared
to be fully an acre of ground. All was green about it, except where the fenced
corrals and numerous barns or sheds showed gray and red.
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Duane soon reached the shady outskirts of Fairdale, and entered the town
with mingled feelings of curiosity, eagerness, and expectation. The street he
rode down was a main one, and on both sides of the street was a solid row of
saloons, resorts, hotels. Saddled horses stood hitched all along the sidewalk
in two long lines, with a buckboard and team here and there breaking the
continuity. This block was busy and noisy.
From all outside appearances Fairdale was no different from other frontier
towns, and Duane's expectations were scarcely realized. As the afternoon was
waning he halted at a little inn. A boy took charge of his horse. Duane
questioned the lad about Fairdale and gradually drew to the subject most in
mind.
"Colonel Longstreth has a big outfit, eh?"
"Reckon he has," replied the lad. "Doan know how many cowboys. They're
always comin' and goin'. I ain't acquainted with half of them."
"Much movement of stock these days?"
"Stock's always movin'," he replied, with a queer look.
"Rustlers?"
But he did not follow up that look with the affirmative Duane expected.
"Lively place, I hear Fairdale is?"
"Ain't so lively as Sanderson, but it's bigger."
"Yes, I heard it was. Fellow down there was talking about two cowboys who
were arrested."
"Sure. I heered all about that. Joe Bean an' Brick Higgins they belong
heah, but they ain't heah much. Longstreth's boys."
Duane did not want to appear over-inquisitive, so he turned the talk into
other channels.
After getting supper Duane strolled up and down the main street. When
darkness set in he went into a hotel, bought cigars, sat around, and watched.
Then he passed out and went into the next place. This was of rough crude
exterior, but the inside was comparatively pretentious and ablaze with lights.
It was full of men coming and going a dusty-booted crowd that smelled of
horses and smoke. Duane sat down for a while, with wide eyes and open ears.
Then he hunted up the bar, where most of the guests had been or were going. He
found a great square room lighted by six huge lamps, a bar at one side, and
all the floor-space taken up by tables and chairs. This was the only gambling
place of any size in southern Texas in which he had noted the absence of
Mexicans. There was some card-playing going on at this moment. Duane stayed in
there for a while, and knew that strangers were too common in Fairdale to be
conspicuous. Then he returned to the inn where he had engaged a room.
Duane sat down on the steps of the dingy little restaurant. Two men were
conversing inside, and they had not noticed Duane.
"Laramie, what's the stranger's name?" asked one.
"He didn't say," replied the other.
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"Sure was a strappin' big man. Struck me a little odd, he did. No cattleman,
him. How'd you size him?"
"Well, like one of them cool, easy, quiet Texans who's been lookin' for a
man for years to kill him when he found him."
"Right you are, Laramie; and, between you an' me, I hope he's lookin' for
Long "
"'S sh!" interrupted Laramie. "You must be half drunk, to go talkie' that
way."
Thereafter they conversed in too low a tone for Duane to hear, and presently
Laramie's visitor left. Duane went inside, and, making himself agreeable,
began to ask casual questions about Fairdale. Laramie was not communicative.
Duane went to his room in a thoughtful frame of mind. Had Laramie's visitor
meant he hoped some one had come to kill Longstreth? Duane inferred just that
from the interrupted remark. There was something wrong about the Mayor of
Fairdale. Duane felt it. And he felt also, if there was a crooked and
dangerous man, it was this Floyd Lawson. The innkeeper Laramie would be worth
cultivating. And last in Duane's thoughts that night was Miss Longstreth. He
could not help thinking of her how strangely the meeting with her had affected
him. It made him remember that long-past time when girls had been a part of
his life. What a sad and dark and endless void lay between that past and the
present! He had no right even to dream of a beautiful woman like Ray
Longstreth. That conviction, however, did not dispel her; indeed, it seemed
perversely to make her grow more fascinating. Duane grew conscious of a
strange, unaccountable hunger, a something that was like a pang in his breast.
Next day he lounged about the inn. He did not make any overtures to the
taciturn proprietor. Duane had no need of hurry now. He contented himself with
watching and listening. And at the close of that day he decided Fairdale was
what MacNelly had claimed it to be, and that he was on the track of an unusual
adventure. The following day he spent in much the same way, though on one
occasion he told Laramie he was looking for a man. The innkeeper grew a little
less furtive and reticent after that. He would answer casual queries, and it
did not take Duane long to learn that Laramie had seen better days that he was
now broken, bitter, and hard. Some one had wronged him.
Several days passed. Duane did not succeed in getting any closer to Laramie,
but he found the idlers on the corners and in front of the stores unsuspicious
and willing to talk. It did not take him long to find out that Fairdale stood
parallel with Huntsville for gambling, drinking, and fighting. The street was
always lined with dusty, saddled horses, the town full of strangers. Money
appeared more abundant than in any place Duane had ever visited; and it was
spent with the abandon that spoke forcibly of easy and crooked acquirement.
Duane decided that Sanderson, Bradford, and Ord were but notorious outposts to
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