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Show CfSEIT MOSES 1fcf.fi.9J-UNI BROWN ! f 3 1 ' .herlff Jlm Do!ine ls called sberlft Sam Flick to track 'i ? W ranS ' traln robl;"- Th0 i JL Jim that ho believes the i ud by f'r1' "auShter ol Plo i , former rancher. Jim starts i 1 ""n the robb' band from the point ' desert of San Loreto county LTiM HOW-BP took place. Ills horse V I bv rattlesnake and Jim has ' T blm. Jim trudges through the J j nttl, overcome by thirst, he col-i col-i m, horsemen led by a girl ' 1 blm. F'om thelr conversation Tm thcy ar sPaniards or lias "m wakens tnrec days L u ' comfortable bed. When he j J;jr water i tall man responds. j 1 CHAPTER III 1 lane saw a taU, languid man I to He was dressed in a cheap, "C suit that still, somehow, gave J 6 L a dapper, suave appearance. 1 Loked a cigarette, lazily, his -B squinting against the rising : ,1s oi smoke. Even so, they were first thing Doane noticed about . ...those odd, gray-green eyes, a the supple ease ol the man's gesture. The face was pallid. I'M, my frien'," said the lan-H lan-H one, with the accented inflec-r. inflec-r. I which the Spanish mother-fee mother-fee gives to later acquired Eng-L Eng-L "It is still more water? I ie' Ik we pour 'most one well nS-&f into you already. But it Is still rfuljM jes?" aifejtane fell back on his pillow. A v'th:$t, sobbing sigh escaped his lips. IfTTaank God!" he muttered, infeften the languid fellow stood be-'y be-'y cHhis bed, questioning Doane with y & eyes, he found him that swiftly ja profound deep slumber. The ra. finished his cigarette, watch-rf watch-rf Doane, a half-smile on his lips, lcfclskugged his flexible shoulders. :eni :iSo it is not water after all, my JV? An' what will happen now, isco,'ii under?" he asked aloud. "Eh? Ueic onder!" oane slept deeply, in a dream-peace, dream-peace, for nearly twenty hours. tag this time an elderly woman aced the man's watch and care jim She sponged Doane's body; I placed damp cloths against his spread. He slept on, unknowing. s he awoke at last, there was n . baft of bright afternoon sunlight O jmg through one of the windows .yjjj.is room. ''lerhaps it had been the sound of fed hoofs in the garden outside had awakened him. He heard horse stamp fretfully. Then ial R? voices, coming nearer, wafting loftly through the open window lis ears. The speech was Span- J, , And last night before Monte to work at the station, the jflW awakes," said a woman's .La "But when Monte goes into sf, foom, it is different. The man 1 JrO at Monte and he mutters, '.atlas a' Dios!' That is all. He Wto sleep again that soon. And fjpiincehe sleeps just like a baby, jyj E a child, senorita, with a smile l his lips. To see him so, you jll ild not think him the evil man Is." tere was a low, musical laugh fjf inswer, and a second voice said: jj I think I would like to see this " we rescued now. Perhaps .(pJlC'ican never know! it would be I to look carefully and remem- Nmt he sleeps so, you mean?" . No other way, to be sure. 1 " He his eyes see nothing in re- D Z v notsteps along some outer veran-ijj(n'ni veran-ijj(n'ni the older woman's voice I l'onte shaved his face yesterday. ' i)J would not know him as the man. While he sleeps, he so-like a gentle child. It is iffiKl He looks like my own Monte i' ht was young." low laugh again, in mild de-fj"1' de-fj"1' "But it is the heart of a man counts, senora. This man's K-? known it is steel! Monte' s I 1lH's nan5 's Doane. I know JW 'Wigs ohout him." jiscjf ke door opened to Doane's room. woman glanced in; then ivake'- softly to the bed. She looked aata-- upon a man who breathed as though In sleep. The y were closed. t Come now." steps across the room. Si-Atlength- . I would not have recognized WC same man" j'f' w S0' He is even handsome, P-ti A "ballero." &l"ne forgets to think of the ' wnf"1 the softer voice- "But flSSE- hi 1 am S'ad to have saved S e death of thirst. That fnWewa, to die." lg?fi "oor slammed. "Monte is '', .:,"ld older woman as fftlfUy from the room-' room-' s:" He h gry Iike tne wolf-" ilv J the door closely noise-f0' noise-f0' ul ,he realized wi'h a start b Zthat ae youneer sin tflil c,lc 'nd' the girl with $i but h! HlS eyes were gIued P I'he h JS straininS ears told 'J 'she me t0 his bedside. ' at h-aS standinS there looking llNli i e lm- soonds crawled past, "k a J-,enUlries' as he fought h sm'le and the temptation to a. ,uS"- At last' sofy. she 'fcJlA o ! ttUgh - herself: i, " "e; m.o amigo; what Hade be' if the gods had us enemies. You come to WM.L put the handcuff on Dolores yes'" She laughed, and her laugh made Doane think again of a babbling mountain brook; or was it the low tinkling beauty of a vesper bell? She laughed, and she went on, mus-ingly: mus-ingly: "You come for that, but the desert put his chain first on you yes? And the desert throw you at my feet, half dead. The fortunes of war, my caballero!" She stood in utter quiet for another an-other second, and then Doane sensed that she was moving toward the door. He opened his eyes and looked at her. "Buenos dias, senorita." The girl whirled, and her hand flew to her hip. She smothered a little cry of exasperation as she discovered dis-covered she had no gun, and she leveled her blazing eyes on the grinning grin-ning face in the bed. His grin fled as Doane's eyes met hers. His heart stopped. Her face came clear to him, as though through a rising mist; he thrilled at the firm red lips drawn now in a hard straight line; he almost "These you shall never put on me, mio amigo." gasped aloud as he caught his first glance at that dark olive skin, framed in a gay kerchief at the full round throat and crowned above with raven hair as black as midnight. mid-night. She backed against the door, her eyes like glowing coals of black, smouldering fire; she fretted at her belt, still pulling at the gun that was not there. "You would shoot your caballero, your prisoner, senorita?" smiled Doane as he lifted himself on one elbow. "I offer you my gun. You should find it in that holster, on the chair." "You you did not sleep. You tricked me!" "Tricked you, senorita? No man with eyes to see and half a heart could stoop to trick one so beautiful." beau-tiful." And immediately he had said it, he knew he had blundered, and he knew also that he meant it. These were not mere words; they were the echo of something buried deep within him, the echo of a still small voice that told him this was the most beautiful girl in the universe. uni-verse. A ruddy flush crept under the olive skin of her cheeks, and she spoke deliberately: "Ah! Now you are insulting, se-nor. se-nor. I would not believe It, had these ears not heard you say it. My men tell me you are brave, that you fear no man alive. But your own words make you ... a fool. The gallant deputy Jim Doane! It is to laugh!" . Doane chuckled. "All's fair in love and war. my friend. I think you spoke of the fortunes of war? Correct Cor-rect We may have nothing to do with love, but . . . we are at war, senorita. you and I? You know why I have come?" "Si, I know. I am told you come to catch the train thieves." The mere hint of a smile crept into her eyes. "And have you captured cap-tured them, Mr. Deputy Doane?" "Not yet," replied Doane evenly even-ly holding her eyes. "But I am close to them. If I were strong enough. I might put my hands on one of them, right now. ' It was a shot in the dark, but it went home. The girl moved one hand swiftly to her heart, and her eves wavered as she turned away. In an instant she was back, frowning frown-ing at him. her eyes afire again. Listen to me, my bvenone- know who you are. and all about vou You know me. but not so well. I am not the one you think I am; I am not the one you want, not the thief you have been sent to capture cap-ture i wear lt Even 11 1 ; vnn have not one little tiny piece of Idence against me. And without eirenprckeVu;hhlsandcfsfrom jYootpost of the bed. -nd landed them while she smiled at him. "These you shall never put on me And if you are not mio am.go. And y wiser than you are today, yvu never put them on anyone. nunggTetacelets away from 1 FEATURES So&gkS" 3 her with a final gesture of contempt, regarded him levelly for a moment, then turned and opened the door. He sent one last jibe at her. "Adios, Senorita Dolores Alvaro!" She turned, with her hand on the door; she walked swiftly back to him and looked at him once more, with eyes that no longer burned, but that were suddenly soft as black silk. She ran a nervous hand through her jet hair, then dropped it to his arm. "Please ... go back. Go away. Get out of this country when strength comes back. These men you seek . . . they are merciless . . . they will stop at nothing . . . they will kill you. I know! Please ..." She spun on her heel, and fled from the room. Doane stared after her, opened his mouth to call to her. For a long time he lay there, looking into space. Again he slept, and dreamed of gay senoritas dancing in the sun. Before slumber conquered him, he told himself again that this girl had brought him back from the tortures of hell; that she had picked him up at the very gates of death, knowing well he was her sworn enemy, and that he had come for . . .. her. He owed his life to her. A man's life meant . . . everything. every-thing. It was the greatest of his possessions. He slept. The hour was approaching sunset. Doane awoke and lay quietly as a man came into the room with a bowl of broth. He was the slim man of the day before. "The hand of God uon you? se-nor," se-nor," he said smoothly. "Broth?" Doane saw that in age he might be anywhere between thirty-five and forty-five. He noted the peculiar, easy grace of movement, sensing in the stranger, more than seeing it, the feline suppleness of strength that rippled beneath the bright shirt. The man's hands were white and slender, tapering at the fingers as though an artist had moulded them of strong white wax. He put down the bowl of broth and .took out a cigarette; he lighted it with all the grace and eloquence of a priest at his ritual. The odd gray-green eyes met Doane's with piercing directness ' through the spirals of smoke as he dropped his match. "And who are you?" asked Doane. The man made a gesture with his white hands. He bowed slightly. "Me I am called Garcia . . . Monte Garcia, senor. An' in return, re-turn, senor, who are you?" "You don't know?" "Me, know?" exclaimed the one called Monte Garcia. "Senor, you flatter me with divine powers. You are, of course, a gentleman of importance. im-portance. That is obvious! So. But more than that . . . ah, how could one say?" "Where am I?" "Close to Sand Wells. Under my roof, senor, and quite safe." "Well, come on. Let's have the story." "Of how you came here, you mean, senor? But yes, of course. Of course, you would wish to hear that first. It is ah the beginning." Garcia made another fine gesture with his hands. Doane tossed In his bed. "Quit stalling. Let's have it." "I am employ' in Sand Wells. I have hands with which I work the telegraph instrument, ver' fast and without mistake, like it should be. So the railroad he like me, and 1 work for them. ' It is night work. Now, four days ago I walk home in the early morning, and what do I see, senor? Nonet other but you. You stagger, you fall, you fall many times, you cry for water. You do not know how close you are to the town of Sand Wells, so close to houses an' water. I bring you here. An' that is all." Monte Garcia dismissed it all like that, with yet another gesture of his graceful hands. He pulled his knees up under him and took a long, deep pull on his cigarette. He was intimating that the matter was closed and done, once and for all. "All?" roared Doane, beside himself. him-self. "All, I assure you, senor," came the calm answer. Unless you would include the hospitality of my leetle house, such as it is. You are welcome, senor. Up to this time I have found you a ver' quiet and courteous guest." "Bien!" snapped Doane. "I thank you for that But listen! Deep in my mind I have another story. It differs from yours. Four men and a confederate held up an east bound train out of Sand Wells at dusk. They hit north. I followed. Three mornings later, in the desert, five riders found me, dying of thirst One was a girl. They brought me here. The girl is called Alvaro she is the daughter of one senor Miguel Alvaro and there is a warrant war-rant issued for her arrest. The warrant war-rant is sworn to by Star La Rue of Maxmilla City, and the charge is stock theft from his ranch. This j girl saved my life!" j There was no change of expres- ; sion on Monte's pale face. His eyes ' looked steadily into Doane's. He ; said calmly: "Mistaire La Rue is no man. He is what you call a skunk! Or as we Spanish like to say, cabron! because the he-goat is a more filthy animal." (TO BE CONTINUED) |