The Tabor independent. [volume] (Tabor, S.D.) 1913-19??, 1916-08-03

I DeIOre Iell away from MIN. lie lay tneTe
stripped to his last shred OF self-re-
spect. He wondered was he afraid +;
had he, the last Of the Duanes-nad
he come to feel fear? No! Ne@-rr in
| all his wild life had he so longsd to
&C out and meet men face TO face. IL
] was not fear that held him back. He
| hated thi7 hiding, this eternal vigi-
lance, this hopeless life. The dnmna-
BILE paradox of the situation was that
| IL 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, merest chance, for his life.
These pursuers, logged and unfiagging
/ as they had been, were MORALLY 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 hated career, the nameless, mex
plicable something in him made him
accept that slim chance.
Waiting then became a physical and
mental agony. He lay under the burn
ing sun, parched by thirst, laboring to
breathe, sweating and bleeding. His
uncared for wound was like red hot
prong In his flesh. Blotched and swoll-
en- from the never ending attack of
Hes 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
ribly augmented at this crisis, in his
mind. 1t seemed that thought and
Imagination had never been so swift.
II death found him presently, how
would 1t come? Would he get decent
burial or be left for the peccaries and
the coyotes? Would his people ever
know where he had fallen? How
wretched, how miserable his state! 1t
was cowardly, 1t was monstrous for
him to cling longer to this doomed life.
Then the hate in his heart, the hellish
hate OF these men on his trail-that was
like scourge. He felt no longer human.
He had degenerated into an animal
that could think. His heart pounded,
his pulse beat, his breast heaved;
and this internal strife seemed to
thunder 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
stinctive defiance.
Mounted upon the horror of Duane's
thought was a watching, listening in
tensity so supreme that 1t registered
impressions which were creations OF
his Imagination. He heard stealthy
steps that were not there: he saw
shadowy moving figures that were only
leaves. A hundred times when he was
about to pull trigger he discovered his
error. Yet voices came from a distance,
and steps and crackings in the willows,
and other sounds real enough. But
til
from the false. There were times when
the wind which had arisen sent a hot,
pattering breath down the willow aisles,
and Duane heard II 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 1t 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 rair. Hope, that seemed unquench-
able in him. resurged again. He hailed
IL with bitterness that was sickening.
Then at a rustling step he froze into
the old strained attention. He heard
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 1t.
Duane waited for the inevitable dis
covery. Any kind OF a hunting dog
could have found him in that thicket.
Voices from outside could be heard
urging on the dog. Rover they called
him. Duane sat up at the moment the
dog entered the little shaded covert.
Duane expected a yelping, baying, or
at least a bark that would tell of his
hiding place. A strange relief swiftly
swayed over Duane. The end was near
now. He had no further choice. Let
them come-a quick fierce exchange Of
shots--and then his torture past! He
waited for the dog TO give the alarm.
But the dog looked at him and trotted
by into the thicket without yelp.
Duane could not believe the evidence of
his senses. He thought he had sud
denly gone deaf. He saw the dog dis
appear. heard him running to and fro
among the willows, getting farther and
farther away, till all sound from him
ceased.
"Thar's Rover" called a voice from
the bluffside. He's been through tibet
black patch"
Mary rabbit in there" replied an
other.
Bah! Thet pups no good" scorn-
fully growled another man. Put a
hound at tibet clump of willows"
Fires the game. Burn the brake
before the rain comes"
The voices droned off as their owners
evidently walked up the ridge.
Then upon Duane fell the crushing
burden of the old waiting, watching,
listening spell. After ALL 1t was not to
end just now His chance still per-
sisted-looked q little brighter--led him
on, perhaps, to forlorn hope.
All at once twilight settled quickly
down upon thes willow brake, or else
Duane noted ii suddenly. He imagined
ii to be caused by the approaching
storm. But there was little movement
of air or cloud, and thunder still NUT
tered and runbled at a distance. The
fact was the sun had set, and at this
time of overcast sky night was at hand.
Duane realized il with the awaken
ing OF all his old force. He would yet
elude his pursuers. That was the mo-
ment when he seized the significance
of all these fortunate circumstances
which had aided him. Without haste
and without sound he began to crawl
in the direction of the river. II was
20 hA h.