When would the town wake up, not only to a little nerve, but to the usefulness of a Ranger?
Three days afterward Steele told me a woman accosted him on the street. She seemed a poor, hardworking person, plain spoken and honest.
Her husband did not drink enough to complain of, but he liked to gamble and he had been fleeced by a crooked game in Jack Martin's saloon. Other wives could make the same complaints. It was God's blessing for such women that Ranger Steele had come to Linrock.
Of course, he could not get back the lost money, but would it be possible to close Martin's place, or at least break up the crooked game?
Steele had asked this woman, whose name was Price, how much her husband had lost, and, being told, he assured her that if he found evidence of cheating, not only would he get back the money, but also he would shut up Martin's place.
Steele instructed me to go that night to the saloon in question and get in the game. I complied, and, in order not to be overcarefully sized up by the dealer, I pretended to be well under the influence of liquor.
By nine o'clock, when Steele strolled in, I had the game well studied, and a more flagrantly crooked one I had never sat in. It was barefaced robbery.
Steele and I had agreed upon a sign from me, because he was not so adept in the intricacies of gambling as I was. I was not in a hurry, however, for there was a little frecklefaced cattleman in the game, and he had been losing, too. He had sold a bunch of stock that day and had considerable money, which evidently he was to be deprived of before he got started for Del Rio.
Steele stood at our backs, and I could feel his presence. He thrilled me. He had some kind of effect on the others, especially the dealer, who was honest enough while the Ranger looked on.
When, however, Steele shifted his attention to other tables and players our dealer reverted to his crooked work. I was about to make a disturbance, when the little cattleman, leaning over, fire in his eye and gun in hand, made it for me.
Evidently he was a keener and nervier gambler than he had been taken for. There might have been gun-play right then if Steele had not interfered.
“Hold on!” he yelled, leaping for our table. “Put up your gun!”
“Who are you?” demanded the cattleman, never moving. “Better keep out of this.”
“I'm Steele. Put up your gun.”
“You're thet Ranger, hey?” replied the other. “All right! But just a minute. I want this dealer to sit quiet. I've been robbed. And I want my money back.”
Certainly the dealer and everyone else round the table sat quiet while the cattleman coolly held his gun leveled.
“Crooked game?” asked Steele, bending over the table. “Show me.”
It did not take the aggrieved gambler more than a moment to prove his assertion. Steele, however, desired corroboration from others beside the cattleman, and one by one he questioned them.
To my surprise, one of the players admitted his conviction that the game was not straight.
“What do you say?” demanded Steele of me.
“Worse'n a hold-up, Mr. Ranger,” I burst out. “Let me show you.”
Deftly I made the dealer's guilt plain to all, and then I seconded the cattleman's angry claim for lost money. The players from other tables gathered round, curious, muttering.
And just then Martin strolled in. His appearance was not prepossessing.
“What's this holler?” he asked, and halted as he saw the cattleman's gun still in line with the dealer.
“Martin, you know what it's for,” replied Steele. “Take your dealer and dig—unless you want to see me clean out your place.”
Sullen and fierce, Martin stood looking from Steele to the cattleman and then the dealer. Some men in the crowd muttered, and that was a signal for Steele to shove the circle apart and get out, back to the wall.
The cattleman rose slowly in the center, pulling another gun, and he certainly looked business to me.
“Wal, Ranger, I reckon I'll hang round an' see you ain't bothered none,” he said. “Friend,” he went on, indicating me with a slight wave of one extended gun, “jest rustle the money in sight. We'll square up after the show.”
I reached out and swept the considerable sum toward me, and, pocketing it, I too rose, ready for what might come.
“You-all give me elbow room!” yelled Steele at Martin and his cowed contingent.
Steele looked around, evidently for some kind of implement, and, espying a heavy ax in a corner, he grasped it, and, sweeping it to and fro as if it had been a buggy-whip, he advanced on the faro layout. The crowd fell back, edging toward the door.
One crashing blow wrecked the dealer's box and table, sending them splintering among the tumbled chairs. Then the giant Ranger began to spread further ruin about him.
Martin's place was rough and bare, of the most primitive order, and like a thousand other dens of its kind, consisted of a large room with adobe walls, a rude bar of boards, piles of kegs in a corner, a stove, and a few tables with chairs.
Steele required only one blow for each article he struck, and he demolished it. He stove in the head of each keg.
When the dark liquor gurgled out, Martin cursed, and the crowd followed suit. That was a loss!
The little cattleman, holding the men covered, backed them out of the room, Martin needing a plain, stern word to put him out entirely. I went out, too, for I did not want to miss any moves on the part of that gang.
Close behind me came the cattleman, the kind of cool, nervy Texan I liked. He had Martin well judged, too, for there was no evidence of any bold resistance.
But there were shouts and loud acclamations; and these, with the crashing blows of Steele's ax, brought a curious and growing addition to the crowd.
Soon sodden thuds from inside the saloon and red dust pouring out the door told that Steele was attacking the walls of Martin's place. Those adobe bricks when old and crumbly were easily demolished.
Steele made short work of the back wall, and then he smashed out half of the front of the building. That seemed to satisfy him.
When he stepped out of the dust he was wet with sweat, dirty, and disheveled, hot with his exertion—a man whose great stature and muscular development expressed a wonderful physical strength and energy. And his somber face, with the big gray eyes, like open furnaces, expressed a passion equal to his strength.
Perhaps only then did wild and lawless Linrock grasp the real significance of this Ranger.
Steele threw the ax at Martin's feet.
“Martin, don't reopen here,” he said curtly. “Don't start another place in Linrock. If you do—jail at Austin for years.”
Martin, livid and scowling, yet seemingly dazed with what had occurred, slunk away, accompanied by his cronies. Steele took the money I had appropriated, returned to me what I had lost, did likewise with the cattleman, and then, taking out the sum named by Mrs. Price, he divided the balance with the other players who had been in the game.