The Benson signal., 1916-11-18


steed went down the long hill.
Duane was in no hurry to look back.
He knew what to expect. His chief
concern of the moment was for his
injured arm. He found that the bones
were still intact; but the wound, hav-
exceedingly bad one. Blood poured
from it. Giving the horse his head,
Duane wound his scarf tightly round
the holes, and with teeth and hand
tied it tightly. That done, he looked
back over his shoulder.
Riders were making the dust fly on
the hillside road. There were more
coming round the cut where the road
curved. Duane needed only one glance
to tell him that they were fast and
hard-riding cowboys in land where
all riders are good. They would not
have owned any but strong, swift
horses. Moreover, it was district
where ranchers had suffered beyond
all endurance the greed and brutality
of outlaws. Duane had simply been so
unfortunate as to run right into a
lynching party at time of all times
when any stranger would be in danger
and any outlaw put to his limit to
escape with his life.
Duane did not look back again till
he had crossed the ridgy piece of
ground and had gotten to the level
road. He had gained upon his pur-
suers. When he ascertained this he
tried to save his horse, to- check little
that killing gait. This horse was
magnificent animal, big, strong, fast;
but his endurance had never been put
to a grueling test. And that worried
Duane. His life had made it i'm
possible to keep one horse very long
at a time, and this one was an un-
known quantity.
Duane had only one plan-the only
plan possible in this case-and that
was to make the river-bottoms, where
he might elude his pursuers in the
willow brakes. Fifteen miles or so
would bring him to the river, and this
was not a hopeless distance for any
good horse if not too closely pressed.
He began to hope and look for a trail
or a road turning off to right or left.
There was none. A rough, mesquite
dotted and yucca-spired country ex-
tended away on either side. Duane
believed that he would be compelled to
take to this hard going. One thing
was certain-he had to go round the
village. The river, however, was on
the outskirts Of the village; and once
in the willows. he would be safe.
Dust-clouds far ahead caused his
alarm to grow. He watched with his
eyes strained; he hoped to see
wagon, a few stray cattle. But no,
Shots and yells behind him attested
to the fact that his pursuerS likewise
had seen these newcomers on the scene.
More than mile separated these two
parties, yet that distance did not keep
them from soon understanding each
other. Duane waited only to see this
new factor show signs Of sudden quick
action, and then, with a muttered
curse, he spurred his horse off the
road into the brush.
He chose the right side, because the
river lay nearer that way and put his
horse to his best efforts, straight
ahead. He had to pass those men.
When this was seemingly made i'm
possible by deep wash from which
he had to turn, Duane began to feel
cold and sick. Almost he lost his bear
ings, and finally would have ridden
toward his enemies had not good
fortune favored him in the matter Of
an open burned-over stretch OF
ground.
Here he saw both groups of pur-
suers, one on each side and almost
within gunshot. Their sharp yells, as
much as his cruel spurs, drove his
horse into that pace which now meant
life or death for him. And never had
Duane bestrode gamer, swifter,
stancher beast. He seemed about to
accomplish the impossible. In the
dragging sand he was far superior to
any horse in pursuit, and on this sandy
open stretch he gained enough to spare
little in the brush beyond. Heated
now and thoroughly terrorized, he kept
the pace through thickets that almost
tore Duane from his saddle. Some
thing weighty and grim eased off
Duane. He was going to get out in
front! The horse had speed, fire,
stamina.
A race began then, a dusty, crashing
drive through gray mesquite. Duane
could scarcely see, he was so blinded
by stinging branches across his eyes.
The hollow wind roared in his ears.
He lost his sense of the nearness Of
his pursuers. But they must have
Deen close. Did they shoot at him? He
imagined he heard shots. But that
might have been the cracking Of dead
snags. His left arm hung limp, al
most useless; he handled the rein
with his right; and most of the time
he hung low over the pommel.
Suddenly he burst out of line Of
mesquite into the road. A long stretch