The Beaver herald. [volume] (Beaver, O.T. [Okla.]) 1895-1923, 1916-11-23

stealing was repugnant to him. The
future seemed gray aud somber
enough. And he was twenty-three
years old.
But what was the matter with the
light OF his campfre2 II had taken on
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 middle
OF the green brightness, PROSTATE, mo-
tionless, dying. Cal Balm
That haunting visitation left Duane
sitting there in a cold sweat, remOrse
gnawlng at his vltals, realizing the
curse that was on him. He OWNED
that never would he be able to keep off
his father had been eternally pursued
by furies of accusing guilt, how he had
never been able to forget in work or
In sleep those men he bad killed.
The hour was late when Duane's
mind let him sleep, and then dreams
stirred himself so early that in the
gray gloom he had difficulty In finding
his horse. Day had just broken when
he struck the old trail again.
He rode hard all morning and halted
in a shady spot TO rest and Craze his
horse. In the afternoon he took to the
trail at an easy trot. The country
grew wilder. Bald, rugged mountains
broke the level of the monotonous ho-
rizon. About three in the afternoon he
came to a little river which marked
the boundary line OF his hunting terri
tory and followed it upstream.
In this kind of travel and camping
he spent three more days, during which
he crossed a number of trails, and one
where cattle-stolen cattle, probably
had recently passed. He followed the
road until a late hour, when, striking
the willow brakes again and hence the
nelghborhood of the river, he picketed
his horse and lay down to rest. But
he did not sleep. His mind bitterly re-
vOlved the fate that had come upon
him. He made efforts to think of other
things, but in vain. Every moment he
expected the chill, the sense of loneli-
ness that yet was ominous of a strange
the peculiarly imagined
lights and shades of the night-these
things that presaged the coming of Cal
Balm. Doggedly Duane fought against |
the insidious phantom. He kept tell
ing himself that 1t was just imaglna-
tion, that 1t would wear of in time. |
Still in his heart he did not believe
what he hoped. But he would not give |
up; he would not accept the ghost Of |
his victim as reality.
Gray dawn found him in the saddle |
again, headed for the river. Half an |
hour of riding brought him to the |
dense chaparral and willow thickets. |
These he threaded to come at length |
to the ford. Once upon the opposite |
shore, he reined in his horse and |
looked darkly back. This action |
marked his acknowledgement of his sit |
latlon: he had voluntarily sought the |
refuge of the outlaws; he was beyond |
the pale.
The trail led into a road which was
hard packed and smooth from the |
tracks of cattle. He doubted not that |
he had come across one of the roads |
used by border raiders. He headed
into 1t, and lad scarcely Travelled n
mile when, turning curve, he came |
point-biank upon a single horseman |
riding toward him. Both riders wheeled |
their mounts sharply and were ready |
10 run and shoot back. Not more than |
hundred PAGES separated them. They |
stood then for a moment watching
each other.
"Mawnin', stranger" called the man,
dropping his gun to his hip.
"Howdy," replied Duane shortly.
They rode toward each other, clos
ng half the gap, then they halted
lgain.
Il seen you amt no ranger" called
he rider, IAN shore l amt none"
He laughed loudly, as If he had
made joke.
How'd you know l wasn't a
asked Duane curiously. Some
how he had instantly OWNED that this
lorseman was no officer, or even a
'ancher trailing stolen stock.
WAL" said the fellow, starting his
lorse forward at a walk, "a ranger'd
never git ready to run the other way
rom one man."
He laughed again. He was small
md wiry, slouchy of attire, and armed
o the teeth, and he bestrode fine
'ay horse. He had quick, dancing
'rown eyes, at once frank and bold.
md coarse, bronzed face. Evidently
le was good-natured ruffian.
Duane acknowledged the truth of
he assertion, and turned over in his
mind how shrewdly the fellow had
him TO be hunted man.
MY names Luke Stevens. an haII
rom the river. Who're your" said
his stranger.
Duane was silent.
Il reckon you're Buck Duane" went
N Stevens, 81 heerd you was a bad
nan with a gun"
TliS time nuana Iauok.S 81,