Tazewell Republican. [volume] (Tazewell, Va.) 1892-1919, 1912-09-12
CHAPTER XXXVI.
The Duel In the Desert

'ato swift trot. After one glance
backward as they clambered up the
teep bank, glance which revealed
Hopes slender form in TN. cabin door.
lis eyes never turned again that way.
lie had a mans stern work to do out
yonder, and his purpose could not be
swerved, his frmness of hand and
%eenness of eye affected, by any
bought of her. His lips compressed.
his fingers gripping the rein. he drove
al regretful memory from his mind.
Iutil every nerve within him throbbed
n unison with his present purpose
lie was right; he knew he was right
Il was not hate, not even revenge,
which had set him forth, leaving love
behind, but honor-the honor of the
South, and Of the frontier, of his an
cestry and his training that
drove him now to meet Hawley face
20 face. man to man. to settle the feud
cetween them for all time. And he
rode smiling. gladly, as to a tryst.
now that he was at last alone, free
in the desert.
The hours passed, the sun rising
higher in the blazing blue of the sky;
the horse, wearied by the constant
pull Of the sand, had long since slowed
Gown to walk; the last dim blur of
Ithe cottonwoods along the Fork had
disappeared; and the rider swayed in
the saddle, the dead lifelessness of
sky and desert dulling his brain. Yet
he had not forgotten his errand-rous-
'ng constantly from lethargy to sweep
his shaded eyes about the rounded
Horizon, keenly marking the slightest
shadow across the sands, taking ad-
vantage of every drift to give him
wider viewpoint, rising in his stirrups
20 scan the leagues of desolation
ahead. Twice he drew his revolver
rom out its sheath, tested it. ana
Tipped in a fresh cartridge, return
ing the weapon more lightly to its
place, the flap Of the holster turned
back and held open by his leg. The
sun beat upon him like a ball of ire.
the hot sand hinging the blaze back
into his face. He pushed back the
upper part of his shirt and drank a
swallow of tepid water from can.
teen strapped behind the saddle. His
eyes ached with the glare. until ho
saw fantastic red and yellow shapes
dancing dizzily before him. The
WEAKNESS of the long night PRESSED
upon his eye-balls; he felt the strain
Of the past hours, the lack of food.
the need of rest. His head nodded,
and he brought himself to life again
with jerk and a muttered word. star
in ont int he
tSnce. Lord. If there was only some
thing moving; something he could
concentrate his attention upon; some
thing to rest the straining eyes!
But there was nothing, absolutely
nothing-just that seemingly endless
stretch OF sand. circled by the blazing
sky, the wind sweeping its surface
soundless and hot, as though from the
pits OF he'll; no stir, no motion, no
movement of anything animate or in
animate to break the awful monotony.
Death! It was death everywhere! his
ching eyes rested on nothing but
what was typical of death. Even the
heat waves seemed fantastic. gro
tesque, assuming spectral forms, as
though ghosts beckoned and danced
In the haze, Turing him on to become
one of themselves. Keith was not a
dreamer. nor one to yield easily to
such brain fancies, but the mad deiri-
UNI OF loneliness gripped him, and he
had to struggle back to sanity, beat
Ing his hands upon his breast to stir
anew the sluggish circulation of his
blood. and talking to the horse in
strange feverishness.
With every step of advance the
brooding silence seemed more pro
found. more deathlike. He got to
marking the sand ridges, the slight va
riations giving play to the brain. Way
OFF to the left was the mirage of
lake, apparently so real that he had
to battle with himself to keep from
turning aside. He dropped forward
I'm the saddle, his head hanging low.
SO blinded by the incessant sun glare
he could no longer bear the glitter Of
that horrible ocean of sand. It was
noon now-noon, and he had been rid
ing steadily seven hours. The thought
brought his blurred eyes again to the
horizon. Where could he be, the man
he sought in the heart of this soil
tude? Surely he should be here by
now, if he had left the water-hole at
dawn. Could he have gone the longer
route, south to the Fork? The possi-
bility of such thing scared through
him like a hot iron, driving the dull
ness from his brain, the lethargy from
his limbs. God! no! Fate could never
play such a scurvy trick as that! The
man must have been delayed; had
failed to leave camp early-some-
where ahead, yonder where the blue
haze marked the union of sand and
sky, he was surely coming, riding half
dead, and dropping in the saddle.
Again Keith rose in his stirrups,
rubbing the mist out of his eyes that
he might see clearer, and stared
ahead What was that away out yon
der? shadow? a spot dancing before
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