Gloucester County Democrat. (Woodbury, N.J.) 1878-1932, 1902-12-04
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Copyright, 1901, by a. S. Richardson

Is 49,. BY c. M. STEVANS
& Copyright, 1901, By 4. s. Richardson
Observation-Disclosures
United States Marshal Simpson was
standing just back of the judges desk
in Topeka during the trial of Bill Covil
He read it thoughtfully and then beck
Oned to Jim Thraile.
When Thraile came up, the marshal
gave him the message, which read:
Casper Flugel in camp with seven
men, not friends, at Willow Springs.
near Guadaloupe peak"
"Thraile," said the marshal, you're
the man to take him in. 1t will be an
/ easy five hundred for you"
Casper Flugel was big German iron
molder, wanted in Pittsburg for the
murder of a companion. His first years
career in the territory had so added to
his crimes that his description was
well known to all the deputy marshals
Jim Thraile accepted his task, and in
due time he rode into the camp at Will
low Springs, playing the role of a fugi-
| tive from justice. Since all renegades
regard it as their prime duty to protect
any one threatened with arrest his first
task consisted of getting the man he
wanted away from the company. He
soon found that this could not be done,
because the iron mOlder would not un-
der any circumstances go ten feet out
of camp unless accompanied by several
of the men.
Flugel was thoroughly disliked. He
did not know how to be companionable
to the other renegades. He lacked their
style of courage. His silent, sullen ma
ture was decidedly distasteful, and it
was apparent that they would gladly
be rid of him. AS Flugel could not be
persuaded to leave the company, and
as Thraile knew how to be popular
with the men, the latter decided that
the quickest way to get his man was to
pick quarrel with him and have him
driven from the camp as an uncongen-
ial character. But Casper Flugel would
not quarrel. He stoically took all abuse
without any sign of resentment further
than a revengeful look out of his
heavy, brutal eyes. 1t was dangerous
game, since even the renegades might
become suspicious. Suspicion was some
times as bad as conviction.
"Say, partner" said one of them,
"Dutchy thinks you are a marshal and
that you are after him. We've got a
notion to fire you both"
Jim Thraile laughed good naturedly.
"I've got out of good many worse
places than this where | wasn't want
ed" he answered. "When do l go?'
"Oh, / guess you're all right" was
the reply, 'but Dutchy's afraid, and he
wants us to promise that you don't get
out of camp until he's had at least
days start"
"That's dead easy" answered Thraile.
Tell Dutchy to git at once. He's no
body's pard. Let him 60"
Casper Flugel rode away at noon
with a grunt that was meant to be
friendly farewell but his late compan-
ions took no notice of him except to ex-
claim, Good riddancep Thraile no
ticed, however, that the rustlers kept
close watch ON him all day. That night
he slipped out of camp, mounted his
horse and rode away.
He had no difficulty next morning in
finding Casper Flugers trail. To his
Rstonishment it led straight northeast
to the PecoS river. Thraile thought
that nothing but the ignorance of the
iron molder could lead him to take the
chances of making his way across the
Great Staked plain. The man hunter
knew that it was fully three days
Journey to the Pecos river, during
which time not drop of water could
be found. Then, possibly, even the
Pecos river would be dry as sand hill.
The hunter filed his two rubber air
pillows with water and stuck like fox
hound to the trail of the fugitive lead
ing into the great oven of the plains.
AS the day progressed scorching and
oppressive vapor made 1t impossible
for him to see any object beyond few
yards. Sparingly he doled out the wa
ter to himself and horse. Most of the
time he held bulbs OF the sand cactus
in his mouth as preventive of thirst,
and he fed them literally to his horse.
The night was inexpressibly silent.
Neither whir of insect nor howl of
coyote came to break the monotOny of
the weary hours.
At the end of the second day his wa
ter supply was exhausted, and nothing
remained but handful of coffee and a
small bag of bran. Not spear of
grass was to be found, and as the
horse struggled along after his master
through the deep white sand he groaned
with almost human Representatives,.
When the sun arose on the third day,
It appeared like redhot stove lid that
had been showed up above the horizon
In the night,
The trail was less than an hour old
when the exhausted pursuer reached
the banks of the Pecos river. He found
the bed of the stream as dry as the
shores Thraile unsaddled his horse
and helped the poor creature gather
the sparsely growing blades of soft
salt grass. AT spot in the bed Of the
thrifty he spent an hour digging with
his hunting knife and was rewarded
with enough water to quench their I,
thirst and to fill one of his rubber bags. 4
The next morning he started again
on the trail, walking all the time to
save his horse. In the course of a few
miles he came to the worst of the des-:
ert. Here was great sea of soft white
sand, into which the horse at every
step sank to his fetlocks and the man
to his ankles. The horse could not en-
dure this unceasing struggle, and soon
after noon he sank down. To save him
from the torture to follow the master
shot him and then trudged on, con-
vinced that he was almost in sight of
the iron molder.
1t was now evident that Casper Flu
gel had been better equipped for his
task than his pursuer. He had been
told that no one could follow him
across the Staked plain. Thraile drank
the last drop of water from the rubber
bag and with indomitable will strug-
gIed on. A little later an object loomed
| up in the trail before him. 1t was Cas-
per Flugel, seated on the body of his