Forest City press. (Forest City, Potter County, D.T. [S.D.]) 1883-19??, 1916-08-02

How clearly all this talk pierced
Duane's ears. In 1t he seemed TO hea
ms doom. This, then was the end h'
had always expected, which had beef
close TO him before, yet never like
now.
by Cod" whispered Duane, 9TH
thing for me to do now-is go out-
meet them"
That was prompted by the lighting
the killing instinct in him. In that mo.
ment it had almost superhunlan pow.
er. If he must die, that was the way
for him to die. What else could be
expected of Buck Duane? He got to his
knees and drew his gun. With his
swollen and almost useless band he
held what spare ammunition he hao
left. He ought TO creep out noiselessly
to the edge of the willows. suddenly
face his pursuers, then. while there was
a beat left in his heart, kill, kill. kin
These men all had rifles. The fight
would be short. But the marksfnen did
not live on earth who could make Such
a tight go wholly against him. Con-
fronting them suddenly he could Kill a
man for every shot in his gun.
Thus Duane reasoned. So he hoped
TO accept his fate-to meet his end.
But when he tried to step forward
something checked him. He forced
himself; yet he could not go. The OBJ
struction that opposed his will was as
lnsurmountablc as it had been physic-
ally impossible for him to climb the
bluff.
Slowly he fell back. :rouched low,
and then lay fiat. The grim and CHASTITY
dignity that had been his q. moment
before fell away from him. He lay there
stripped to his last shred of s~elf-re-
spcct. He wondered was he afraid:
had he. the last of the Duanes-had
he come to feel fear: No, Never in
all his wild life had he so longed to
go out and meet men face to face. 1t
was not fear tnat held him back. He
hated this hiding, this eternal vigil
lance, this hopeless life. The damna-
BILE paradox of the situation WAS that
if he went out to meet these men there
was absolutely no doubt of his doom.
IL he chung to his covert there was a
chance, Il merest chance, for his life.
THESE p%ursuers, logged and ~unflagging
as they had been, We're mOrtally afraid
of him. 1T was his fame that made
them towards. Duan's keenness told
him that at the very darkest and most
perilous moment there was still a
chance for him. And the blood in him.
the temper of his father, the years OF
his outlawry, the pride of his unsought
and mated career, the namelesS, mex
pllcable something in him made him
accept that slim chance.
Waiting then became a physical and
mental agony. He lay under the burn
ing sum-, parched by thirst. laboring to
breathe, sweating and bleeding. His
uncared for wound was like a red hot
prong in his flesh. Blotched and swoll-
en- from the never ending attack of
files and mosquitoes his face seemed
twice Its natural size, and it ached and
stung.
One one side, then, was this physical
torture; on the other the OLD hell, ter
t1hIV l1pn1a1fn 1 at this rio ~, h;,
mind: 1t seemed that thought and
imagination had ever been so swift.
1T death found him presently, how
would 1t come? Would he get decent
burial or be left for the p~eccaries and
the coyotes? Would his people ever
know h he had fallen? How
w~retched, how miserable his state! 1t
cowardly, it vas monstrous for
him to cling longer to this doomed life.
Then the hate in his heart, the hellish
nate of these men on his trail-that was
like a scourge. He felt no longer human.
He had degenerated into an animal
that could think. His heart pounded,
and this internal strife seemed to
into his ears. He was now
enacting the tragedy of all crippled,
starved, hunted wolves at bay in their
dens. Only his tragedy was infinitely
more terrible because he had mind
enough to see his plight, his resemblance
to a lonely wolf, bloody-fanged. drip
ping, snarling. fire eyed in "a last in
defiance.
Mounted upon the horror of Duane's
thought was Il watching, listening in
tenslty so supreme that it registered
impressions which We're creations OF
his imagination. He heard stealthy
steps that were not there: he saw
shadowy moving figures that We're only
leaves. \ hundred times when he was
about to pull trigger he discovered his
error. Yet voices came from q distance,
and steps and c%rackings in the willows,
n other sounds real enough. But
Duane could not distinguish the real
from the false. There were times when
the wind which had arisen sent a hot,
pattering breath down the willow aisles,
and uan heard it as an approaching
army.
This straining of Duane's faculties
brought on a reaction which in itself
was a respite. He saw the stun dark
ened by thick slow spreading clouds.
A storm appeared to be coming. How
slowly it moved! The air was like
steam. II there broke one Of those
dark, violent storms common through
rare to the country, Duane believed he
might slip away in the fury Of wind
and rain. Hope, that seemed unquench-
able IN him., resurged again. He hailed
1t with a bitterness that was sickening.
Then at a rustling step he froze into
the old strained attention. He heard
a slow patter of soft feet. A tawny
shape crossed a little opening in the
thicket. 1t was that of a dos. The
moment while that beast came into full
view was an age. The dog was not a
bloodhound. and if he had a trail or a
scent he seemed to be at fault on it.
Duane waited for the inevitable dis
covery. Any kind of a hunting dog
could AVE found him In that thicket.
Voices from outside could be heard
urging on the dog. Rover they called