Pierre weekly free press. (Pierre, S.D.) 1889-19??, 1916-06-01
mesquites anil oaks, at a goodly dis

among his effects for a hobble, and.
f:nding that his uncle had failed to
put one in, he suddenly rememb cred
that he seldom used a hobble, and
never on his horse. He cut a few feet
off the end of his lasso and used that.
The horse, unused to such hampering
of his free movements, had to be driven
out upo the grass.
Duane made a small fire, prepared
and ate his supper. This done, ending
the work of that day, he sat down and
filled his pipe. Twilight had waned
into dusk. A few wan stars had just
begun to show and brighten. Above
the low continuous hun of insects
sounded the evening carol of robins.
Presently the birds ceased their sing
ing, and then the quiet was more no.
ticeable. When night set in and the
place seemed all the more isolated and
lonely for that Duane had a sense o&
relief. 7
1t dawned upon him all at once that
ne 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 n day had wrought amazed
him. He who had always been free,
easy, happy, especially when out alone
in the open, had become in a few short
hours bound, serious, p~reoccupied. The
silence that had nee been sweet now
meant nothing to him except a medium
whereby he might the better hear the
sounds of pursuit. The loneliness, the
night, the wild, that l>ad always been
beautiful to him, now only conveyed a
sense or safety for the present. He
watched, he listened, he thought. He
felt tired, yet had no inclination to
rest. He intended to be off by dawn,
heading toward the southwest. Had
ne a destination? 1t was vague as his
knowledge of that great waste of mes
u1JIa and Ysnnl hNr,1 4- r.-
Grande. Somewhere out there was a
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
llVlng! He must be a lone wolf or he.
must nerd among men obnoxious to
MN. II he worked for an honest living,
he still must hid his identity and take
risks of detection. If he did not work
on some distant outlying ranch, how
was ne to live? The idea of stealing
seemed gray and somber enough. And
he was 23 years old,
why had this hard life been imposed
upon him?
Inc bitter question seemed to start
a strange iciness that stole along his
stirred the few sticks of mesquite into
a last flickering blaze. He was cold
ana for some reason he wanted
some light. The black circle of.
darkness weighed down upon him,
closed &c IN around him. Suddenly he
IN that position. He had heard a step.
IT was behind him-no-on the other
slde. Some one was there. He forced
ms hand down to his gun and the touch
OF cold steel was another icy shock.
Inen ne waited. But all was silent.
| silent gC fr1u a rv;1lo~oo- 49,.
De, with It's low murmuring of wind in
the mesquite. Had he heard a step?
He began to breathe again.
But what was the matter with the
llght OF his camp fire? 1t had taken on
a strange green luster and seemed to
De waving or into the other shadows.
puane heard no step, saw no move
ment; nevertheless, there was another
present at that camp fire vigil. Duane
saw him. He lay there in the middle of.
the green brightness, PROSTATE, mo-
uonless, dying. Cal Balm! His features
We're Wonderfully distinct, clearer than
any cameo, more sharply outlined than
those or any picture. 1t was a hard
face softening at the threshold of eter-
nifty. The red tan of sun, the coarse
signs OF drunkenness, the ferocity and
nate SO characteristic of Balm were no
Inherent Balm, showed all that was hu-
mar In him fading, fading as swiftly
as 1t blanched white. The lips wanted
TO speak, but had not the power. The
eyes held an gon of thought. They
revealed what might nave been possible
his mistake too late. Then they rolled,
set blankly, and closed in death.
Ihat haunting visitation left Duane
slttlng there in a cold sweat, a renlorse
gnaWing at his vitals, realizing the
curse tina was on him.. He OWNED
tlaat never would he be able to keep off
lhat phantom. He remembered how his
Iather been %eternally pursued by,
the rurles OF accusing guilt, how he had,
never been able to forget in work or in
sleep those men he had killed.
Inc hour was late when Duane's mind
Leu MIN sleep, and then dreams troubled
MN. In the morning he bestirred him
selI SO early n in the gray gloom he
had difficulty in finding his horse. nav
had Just broken when he struck the old
trail again.
He rode hare all morning and halted
IN a 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 horizon.
About 8 o'clock in the afternoon he
came to a little river which marked the
line of his hunting territory.
Inc decision he made to travel I'm
stream for a while was owing to two
facts--the river was high with quick
sand bars on each side, and he felt re-
luctant to cross into that region where
his presence alone meant that he was a.
marked man. The bottom lands through
which the river wound to the southwest
We're more inviting than the barrens he
had traversed. The rest of that day he
rode ~leisurely up stream. At sunset
he penetrated the brakes of willow and
cottonwood to spend the night. 1t
seemed to him that in this lonely cover
he would feel easy and content. But
ne did not. Every feeling. every mag
ming he had experienced the previous
night returned somewhat more wildly
and accentuated by new ones of the,
same intensity and color.
In this kind Of travel and camping
he spent three more days, during which
he crossed a number Of trails, and one
road where cattle-stolen cattle, prob
ably-had recently passed. This time
exhausted his supply of food. except
salt, pepper, coffee n sugar, Of which
he had a quantity. There were deer in
the brakes; but, as he could not get
close enough to kill them with a re-
volver. he had to satisfy himself with