The Tabor independent. [volume] (Tabor, S.D.) 1913-19??, 1916-07-20

and her pale, sad, beautiful face with its
staring dark eyes. He remembered
every look she had given him, every
word she had spoken to him,
every time she had touched him.
He though OF her beauty and sweet
ness, OF the few things which had come
to mean to him that she must have
loved him; and he trained himself to
| think OF these In preference to her lie
at BANDS, the escape with him, ana
then the recapture because such mem
cries led to bitter. fruitless pain. he
| had to fight suffering because 1t was
| eating out his heart. -r'.
Sitting there, eyes wide open. ne
dreamed of the old homestead and his
white haired mother. He saw the old
home life, sweetened and filled by dear
new faces and added joys, go on before
his eyes with him q part of 1t.
Then In the inevitable reaction, In
the reflux OF bitter reality, he would
send out voiceless cry no less poig-
nant because II was silent: Poor fool!
No. / shall never see mother again
never go home-never have home.
am Duane, the Lone Wolf! oh, God!
I wish it were overt These dreams tor
ture me! What have 1 to do with a
mother. a home. a wife? No bright
haired boy. no dark eyed girl will ever
| love me. / am an outlaw, an outcast,
dead to the good and decent world.
am alone--alone. Better be callous
| brute or better dead! I shall go mad
thinkingl Man. what Is left to you? A
hiding place like wolfs-lonely silent
| days, lonely night with phantoms! Or
the trail and the road with their bloody
| tracks, and then the hard ride, the
| sleepless, hungry ride to some role in
rocks or brakes. What hellish thing
| drives me? Why can't end II all?
| What Is left? Only that damned un-
quenchable spirit OF the gun fighter to
live-to hang on to miserable life-to
have no fear Of death, yet to cling like
leach--to die as gun fighters seldom
| die, with boots off! Balm, you were
first, and you're long avenged. I'd
change with you. And Sellers. you
were last. and you're avenged. And
you other-you're avenged. Lie quiet
| in your graves and give me peace!"
| But they did not lie quiet in their
graves and give him peace.
A group OF specters trooped out Of
the shadows OF dusk and, gathering
| round him, escorted him to his bed.
When Duane had been riding the
trails passion bent to escape pursuers,
| or passion bent in his search. the con-
slant action and toll and exhaustion
made him sleep. But when in hiding,
as time passed, gradually he required
came more active. Little by little his
phantoms gained hold on him, and at
| length, but for the saving power Of his
dreams, they would have claimed him
utterly. ...
How many times he had said to him
self: Il am an intelligent man. I'm
| not crazy. I'm in full possession OF my
faculties. All this Is fancy-imagina-
tion--conscience. I've no work, no duty.
no ideal, no hope-and my mind Is OBJ
sessed, thronged with images. And
these images naturally are Of the men
with whom have dealt. I can't forget
them. They come back to me, hour
| after hour; and when my tortured
mind grows weak. then maybe I'm not
just right till the mood wears out and
| lets me sleep" Z.
So he reasoned as he lay down In
| his comfortable camp. The night was
| star bright above the canon walls,
| darkly shadowing down between them.
The insects hummed and chirped and
thrummed continuous thick song, low
and monotonous. Slow running water
| splashed softly over stones in the
stream bed. From far down the canon
came the mournful boot OF an owl. The
moment he lay, down. thereby giving
out action for the day, all these things
weighed upon him like a great heavy
mantle OF loneliness. In truth, they did
not constitute loneliness.
And he could no more have dispelled
thought than he could have reached
out to touch a cold, bright star.
He wondered how many outcasts like
him lay under this star stubbed,
velvety sky across the fifteen hundred
miles of wild country between Ell Paso
and the mouth of the river. A vast
wild territory--a refuge for outlaws!
| Somewhere he had heard or read that
the Texas Rangers kept q book with
names and records of ottlaws-three
| thousand known outlaws! Yet these
could scarcely be half of that unfor-
tunate horde which had been recruited
from all over the states. Duane had
travelled from camp to camp, den to
! den, hiding place to hiding place, and
he knew these men. Most of them were
| hopeless criminals; some were aveng-
ers; a few were. wronged wanderers;
and among them occasionally was a
man, human in his way, honest as he
could be, not yet lost to good.
But all of them were akin in one
sense-their outlawry; and that starry
night they lay with their dark faces
up. some in packs like wolves. others
alone like the gray wolf who knew no
| mate. 1t did not make much difference
in Duane's thought OF them that the
| majority were stepped in crime and
brutality, more often than not stupied
from rum. incapable OF a fine feeling,
| just lost wild dogs.
| Duane doubted that there was a man
among them who did not realize his
moral wreck and gum. He lad met
poor, half witted wretches who knew
it. He believed he could enser into
their minds and feel the truth of all
their lives-the hardened outlaw,
coarse, ignorant, bestial, who murdered
as Bill Black had murdered, who stole
| for the sake Of stealing, who craved
money 10 gamble and drink, defiantly
ready fer death, and. like that terrible
outlaw, Helm, who cried out on the
| scaffold, Let her rip!"
The wild youngsters seeking motor
iety and reckless adventure; 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
chested men not fit for that wilderness
and not surviving; the dishonest cattle
men, hand and glove with outlaws,
driven from their homes; the old griz-
zied, 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