He laid it on Bain’s breast, and the black figure on the card covered the two bullet-holes just over Bain’s heart.

Duane wheeled and hurried away. He heard another man say:

“Reckon Cal got what he deserved. Buck Duane’s first gunplay. Like father like son!”

The Lone Star Ranger

CHAPTER II

A thought kept repeating itself to Duane, and it was that he might have spared himself concern through his imagining how awful it would be to kill a man. He had no such feeling now. He had rid the community of a drunken, bragging, quarrelsome cowboy.

When he came to the gate of his home and saw his uncle there with a mettlesome horse, saddled, with canteen, rope, and bags all in place, a subtle shock pervaded his spirit. It had slipped his mind–the consequence of his act. But sight of the horse and the look of his uncle recalled the fact that he must now become a fugitive. An unreasonable anger took hold of him.

“The d–d fool!” he exclaimed, hotly. “Meeting Bain wasn’t much, Uncle Jim. He dusted my boots, that’s all. And for that I’ve got to go on the dodge.”

“Son, you killed him–then?” asked the uncle, huskily.

“Yes. I stood over him–watched him die. I did as I would have been done by.”

“I knew it. Long ago I saw it comin’. But now we can’t stop to cry over spilt blood. You’ve got to leave town an’ this part of the country.”

“Mother!” exclaimed Duane.

“She’s away from home. You can’t wait. I’ll break it to her–what she always feared.”

Suddenly Duane sat down and covered his face with his hands.

“My God! Uncle, what have I done?” His broad shoulders shook.

“Listen, son, an’ remember what I say,” replied the elder man, earnestly. “Don’t ever forget. You’re not to blame. I’m glad to see you take it this way, because maybe you’ll never grow hard an’ callous. You’re not to blame. This is Texas. You’re your father’s son. These are wild times. The law as the rangers are laying it down now can’t change life all in a minute. Even your mother, who’s a good, true woman, has had her share in making you what you are this moment. For she was one of the pioneers–the fightin’ pioneers of this state. Those years of wild times, before you was born, developed in her instinct to fight, to save her life, her children, an’ that instinct has cropped out in you. It will be many years before it dies out of the boys born in Texas.”

“I’m a murderer,” said Duane, shuddering.

“No, son, you’re not.