Evening times-Republican. [volume] (Marshalltown, Iowa) 1890-1923, 1916-12-23

blame. I'm giad 10 sse you take It tihs
way, Oecause maybe youM never grow
hard an callous. You're not to blame
This IL Texas. You're your fathers
son. These are wild times. The law
~ the rangers are laying It down now
can't change life all In = minute"
Tin Z murderer" said Duane. shud-
deripg.
mo, son, you're mot. An you never
will be. But you've got to be m out
law till time makes It safe for you to
come home"
IAN outlaw"
II said 1t. II we had money an In
~fluence, we'd risk 4 trial. but we've
neither. Strike for the wild country,
an wherever you go an whatever you
do-be a man. You can't come home.
When this thing is lived down, II that
time ever comes, I'll get word into the
unsettled country. It'll reach you
some day. That's all. Remember. be
a man. Good.by."
Duane, with blurred sight and con-
tracing throat, gripped his uncle's
hand and babe him II wordless fare
well. Then he leaped astride the black
and rode out Of town.
As swiftly as was consistent with .
care for his steed. Duane put q dis
lance OF fifteen or eighteen miles
behind him. He passed several
ranches, and was seen by men. This
did not suit him. and he took an old
trail across country. 1t was q nat
region with q poor growth OF mesquite
and prickly.pear cactus. Occasionally
he caught a glimpse of low hills in the
distance. He had hunted often in that
section, and knew where to find grass
and water. When he reached this
higher ground he did not, however,
halt at the first favorable camping
spot, but went on and on.
At last he found a secluded spot, I'M
der cover Of thick mosquitoes and oaks,
at a goodly distance from the old trail.
He took saddle and pack of the horse,
made a small fire, prepared and ate his
supper. This done. ending the work
OF that day. he sat down and filled his
pipe. When night set in and the
place seemed all the more isolated and
lonely for that Duane had q sense of
relief.
1t dawned upon him all at c that
he was nervous, watchful. sleepless.
The fact caused him surprise, and he
began to think back. to take note OF
his late actions and their motives. The
change one day had wrought amazed
him. He who had always been free,
easy happy, especially when out alone
in the open. had become In 4 few short
hours bound. serious. preoccupied. He
felt tired. yet had no inclination to
rest. He intended to be.Of by dawn
,heading toward the southwest. Had
he a destination? It was vague as his
knowledge OF that great waste OF
mesquite and rock bordering the Rio
Grnnde. Somewhere ont there Was q
refuge. For he was a fugitive from
Justice. an outlaw.
This being an outlaw then meant
eternal vigilance. No home, no rest,
no sleep, no content, no life worth the
living! He must be q lone wolf or he
mnst herd amonE men obnoxious 70
him. II he worked for an honest hv-
ing, ne still must hide mis- identity q
take risks Of detection. II he did not
work on sone distant, outlying ranch,
how was he to live? The idea OF
stealing vas repugnant to him. The
future seemed gray and somber
enough. And he was twenty-three
years old.
But what was the matter with the
light Of his campfire? It had taken on
a strange green luster and seemed to
be waving of into the outer shadows.
Duane heard no step, saw no move
ment !; nevertheless, there was another
present at that campfire vigil. Duane
saw him. He lay there in the d
of the green brightness, PROSTATE, mo-
tionless. dying. Cal Balm!
That haunting visitation left Duane
sitting there in a cold sweat. a remorse
ynawing at his vitals. realizing the
curse that was on him. He OWNED
that never would ne be able to keep of
that phantom. He remembered how
his father had been ~eternahy pursued
by furies Of accusing guilt, how he had
never been able to forget ia work or
in sleep those men he had killed.
The hour was late when Duane's
mind let him sleep, md then dreams