He was lightning swift on the draw.

It was death to face him.

He had killed thirty men--wildest rumor of all.
He had the gun skill of Buck Duane, the craft of Cheseldine, the deviltry of King Fisher, the most notorious of Texas desperadoes.

His nerve, his lack of fear--those made him stand out alone even among a horde of bold men.
At first there had not only been great conjecture among the vicious element, with which I had begun to affiliate myself, but also a very decided checking of all kinds of action calculated to be conspicuous to a keen eyed Ranger.
Steele did not hide, but during these opening days of his stay in Linrock he was not often seen in town.

At the tables, at the bars and lounging places remarks went the rounds: "Who's thet Ranger after?
What'll he do fust off?
Is he waitin' fer somebody?
Who's goin' to draw on him fust--an' go to hell?
Jest about how soon will he be found somewhere full of lead ?" Those whom it was my interest to cultivate grew more curious, more speculative and impatient as time went by.