How many times he was shot at I had no idea, but it was many.

He dragged forth this and that rustler, and turned them all over to Morton to be guarded.

More than once he protected a craven rustler from the summary dealing Morton wanted to see in order.
I told Miss Sampson particularly how Steele appeared to me, what his effect was on these men, how toward the end of the fight rustlers were appealing to him to save them from these new-born vigilantes.

I believed I drew a picture of the Ranger that would live forever in her heart of hearts.

If she were a hero-worshiper she would have her fill.
One thing that was strange to me--leaving fight, action, blood, peril out of the story--the singular exultation, for want of some better term, that I experienced in recalling Steele's look, his wonderful cold, resistless, inexplicable presence, his unquenchable spirit which was at once deadly and merciful.