an who's lived along the Texas border remembers a
lot about your Dad. It was expected of you, I reckon, an' much of your
rep was established before you thronged your gun. I jest heerd thet you
was lightnin' 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 border. It's the kind of reputation
most sure to fly far an' swift ahead of a man in this country. An' the
safest, too; I'll gamble on thet. It's the land of the draw. I see now
you're only a boy, though you're shore a strappin' husky one. Now,
Buck, I'm not a spring chicken, an' I've been long on the dodge. Mebbe
a little of my society won't hurt you none. You'll need to learn the
country."

There was something sincere and 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. Duane had never
been much of a talker, and now he found speech difficult. But his
companion did not seem to mind that. He was a jocose, voluble fellow,
probably glad now to hear the sound of his own voice. Duane listened,
and sometimes he thought with a pang of the distinction of name and
heritage of blood his father had left to him.

CHAPTER III

Late that day, a couple of hours before sunset, Duane and Stevens,
having rested their horses in the shade of some mesquites near the town
of Mercer, saddled up and prepared to move.

"Buck, as we're lookin' fer grub, an' not trouble, I reckon you'd better
hang up out here," Stevens was saying, as he mounted. "You see, towns
an' sheriffs an' rangers are always lookin' fer new fellers gone bad.
They sort of forget most of the old boys, except those as are plumb
bad. Now, nobody in Mercer will take notice of me. Reckon there's been
a thousand men run into the river country to become outlaws since yours
truly. You jest wait here an' be ready to ride hard. Mebbe my besettin'
sin will go operatin' in spite of my good intentions. In which case
there'll be--"

His pause was significant. He grinned, and his brown eyes danced with a
kind of wild humor.

"Stevens, have you got any money?" asked Duane.

"Money!" exclaimed Luke, blankly. "Say, I haven't owned a two-bit piece
since--wal, fer some time."

"I'll furnish money for grub," returned Duane. "And for whisky, too,
providing you hurry back here--without making trouble.