Forest City press. (Forest City, Potter County, D.T. [S.D.]) 1883-19??, 1916-07-19
scaffold, LET her rip!"

SCAIlOlu, Leu ueT rip.
The wild youngsters seeking motor
iety and reckless adventures: the cow
boys with a notch on their guns, with
boastful pride in the knowledge that
they were marked by rangers; the
crooked men from the north. defaulters,
forgers, murderers, all pale faced, flat
chestel men not fit for hat wilderness
and not surviving; the dishonest cattle
men. ham and glove with outlaws,
! driven from their homes; the old griZ-
zled. bow legged genuine rustlers-all
these Duane had come in contact with,
had watched and known, and as he felt
with them he seemed to see that as
their lives We're bad, sooner OF later to
end dismally or tragically. so they must
pay some kind of earthly penalty-if
not of conscience. then of fear; if not
of fear. then of that most terrible of
all things to restless, active men-pain,
the pang of flesh and bone,
Duane knew, for he had seen them
pay. Best of all, moreover, he knew
the internal life of the gun fighter of
that select but by no means small class
of which he was representative. The
world that Judged him and his kind
judged him as Il machine, d killing ma
chine, with only mind enough to hunt,
to meet, to Stay another nan 1t had
taken three endless years for Duane To
understand his own father. Duane knew
beyond all doubt that the gun fighters
like Bland. like Alloway, like Sellers.
mer who were evil and had no remorse,
no spiritual accusing Nemesis, a
something far more %torturing to mind.
more haunting, more murderous of rest
and sleep and peace; and that some
thing was abnormal fear of death.
Duane knew this. for he had shot these
men; he had seen the quick. dark
shadow in eyes, the presentiment that
the will could not control, and then
Tho hnVrih1n nartnipfv rNhnon ~ ANS
have been in agony at every meeting
with a possible or certain foe-more
agony than the hot REM of a bullet.
They We're haunted. too. haunted by
this fear. by every victim calling from
the grave that nothing was sc in
every corner, hid in every shadow, lap
deep in the dark tube of every gun.
These men could not have a friend;
they could not owe or trust a woman.
They knew their one chance of holding
on to life lay in their own distrust,
by the very nature OF their lives, could
not be lasting. They had doomed them
selves. What. then, could possibly
nave dwelt in the depths of their minds
as they went to their beds on a starry
night this, with mystery In silence
and shadow. with time passing surely.
and the dark future and it's secret APP
preaching every hour-What, then, out
hell?
The hell in Duane's mind was not
fear OF man or fear Of death. He would
have been glad to lay down the burden
of life. providing death came naturally.
Many times he had prayed for it. But
that over developed, superhuman spirit
Of defense in him precluded suicide or
the inviting of any enemy's bullet.
Sometimes he had a vague. scarcely
analysed idea that this spirit was what
had made the southwest habitable for
the white man.
Every n of his victims, singly and
collectively. returned to him for ever.
it seemed. in cold. passionless, accus-
ing domination of these haunted hours.
They did not accuse him of dishonor
or cowardice or brutality or murder;
they only accused hin Of Death. 1t
was as II they knew more than when
they were alive, had learned tina life
was a divine mysterious gift not to
be taken. They thronged about him
with their voiceless clamoring, drifted
round him with their fading eyes.