Scarcely had I
retraced my steps and seated myself on the porch steps when a very tall
dark figure loomed up in the moonlit road.
Steele! I wanted to yell like a boy. He came on slowly, looking all
around, halted some twenty paces distant, surveyed the house, then
evidently espying me, came on again.
My first feeling was, What a giant! But his face was hidden in the
shadow of a sombrero.
I had intended, of course, upon first sight to blurt out my identity.
Yet I did not. He affected me strangely, or perhaps it was my emotion at
the thought that we Rangers, with so much in common and at stake, had
come together.
"Is Sampson at home?" he asked abruptly.
I said, "Yes."
"Ask him if he'll see Vaughn Steele, Ranger."
"Wait here," I replied. I did not want to take up any time then
explaining my presence there.
Deliberately and noisily I strode down the porch and entered the room
with the smoking men.
I went in farther than was necessary for me to state my errand. But I
wanted to see Sampson's face, to see into his eyes.
As I entered, the talking ceased. I saw no face except his and that
seemed blank.
"Vaughn Steele, Ranger--come to see you, sir." I announced.
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