The Logan Republican. [volume] (Logan, Utah) 1902-1924, 1906-01-06

teen miles and the curving shoulder
Of the mountain that she must cross
still Knocked in the distance. Only tho
sun moved In that vast world of seem
ingly immutable forces.
There was no stole Sioux i'm judith
now. Tho girl that breasted the crests
OF the foothills shrank IN terror from
the loneliness and the suggestion Of
foes lurking IN ambush The sun
dropped behind the mountain, leaving
blood red pool in his wake, like
fugitive Cain. Already night was
sweeping over the earth from noun
tain .hadows that flowed impercep-
tibly together like blackencd pools.
"Ah. Dolly. my dear. house is the
place for women folk when the night
comes-a house, the fire burning clear,
the kettle singing. and Dolly whin-
MED an affirmative without waiting for
the picture to be completed. The will
dcrncss was being gradually swallowed
by the shadows. as deliberately as n
snake swallows It's victim. They were
nearing the mountains. The hot blasts
of air from the desert blew more aud
more internationally. The breeze swept
keen from The hills towering higher
and higher, and Judith breathed deep
of the piny fragrance and felt the ten
sion of things loosen little.
Whitening cattle bones CLEANED from
the darkness. tragic reminders of hard
win I,,
dith, with the Indian superstition that
was in the marrow of her bones, read
ghostly warnings in the empty eye
sockets of the grinning skulls that
stared up at her. She dared not think
of the dangers that the looming dark
ness might conceal or of what she
might find at her journeys end or
whoa. Dolly! Softly. girl. Is it my
foolish, white blood nerves. or Is some
one following?"
The mare had been trained to re
spond to the slightest touch Oh her
mouth and stopped Instantly Judith
swayed slightly in the saddle with the
heaving Of the sweating horse. The
blood beat at her temples, confusing
what she actually heard with what her
imagination pictured. She was half
way up a towering spur of the Wind
river when she slid from the saddle,
and. putting her ear to the ground.
listened, Indian fashion. Above the
throbbing stiffness of the desert night,
that came to her unanimously; like
the imprisoned roar of the sea from a
shell, she could hear the regular beat
Of horses hoofs following up the steep
mountain grade.
She scrambled up with the desperate
nimbleness of a hunted thing, but when
she attempted to vault to the saddle
her limbs failed, and she sank clinglng
to the pommel. Twice she tried and
twice the trembling of her limbs held
her captive. With the loss of each mo-
ment the beat of the hoofs on the trail
below became more distinct. The very
desperation of her plight kept her cling
ing TO the pommel, incapable of
thought, so that when she finally flung
herself to the saddle she was surprised
to find herself there. To the left the
trail dropped sharply TO n precipice,
choked by the close crowding of many
scrub pines. To the right the snow
clad spires of the Wind river kept their
eternal vigil.
The trail had begun to widen. The
horse behind her again stumbled, loos-
enlng stone that rolled with crashes
and echongs down to the precipice be-
low. She took advantage of the widen
ing of the trail to urge Dolly forward.
Her impulse was to put spurs to the
mare and run, to take chances with
loose stones, a narrowing trail and the
possibility Of Dolly's stumbling and
breaking leg, but discretion prompt
ed the showing of brave front. the
Of the road, with flight rs
the last resource of desperation.