The Owosso times. (Owosso, Mich.) 1897-1926, 1903-01-23
lNANA/\ANA/\A/ I\A/\A/\A/\A/\AA
!, AN OUTLAWS
] FATE ~
, -. BY C. NJ. sTEvANS
Copyright, 1901, BIZ A. s. Richardson
NEUTRALITY-SUSPICIOUS.

{ Copyright, 1901, by A. s. Richardson =
Observation-Disclosures
United States Marshal Simpson was
standing just back Of the judges desk
in Topeka during the trial of Bill Covil
when boy brought him telegram.
He read it thoughtfully and then beck
bned to Jim Thraile.
When TKraile came up, the marshal
gave him the message, which read:
Casper Flugel in camp with seven
men, not friends at Willow Springs,
near Guadalupe peak" 81.
"Thraile," said the marshal, you're
the man to take him ill.,. 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 VIII
low Springs, playing the role of 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 I'M
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 1t
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 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 naturally.
1--WE got out of good many worse
places than this where l wasn't want
ed" he answered. when do 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 a
days start"
That's dead easy" answered Thraile
''Tell Dutchy to git at once. He's no.
bodys pard. Let him CO."
Casper Flugel rode, away at noon
with a grunt that was meant to be a
friendly farewell, but his late compan.
ions took no notice of him except to ex-
claim, Good riddancer' Thraile no.
ticed, however, that the rustlers kept q
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
establishment 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 a 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 q scorching and
oppressive vapor made it 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 n
small bnp of hiram NOT n snpnr 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,
1t 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