The Tabor independent. [volume] (Tabor, S.D.) 1913-19??, 1916-06-01

Imesquftcc ann oaKx O. 4 sovdfy dis-
tance from the old trail He took sad.
die and pack or the horse. He looked
among his effects for hobble, and,
finding that his uncle had failed TO
put one In, he suddenly remembered
that he seldom used hobble. ana
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 upon 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 hum 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 %
relief \
1t dawned upon him all at once that
he 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 one 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, preoccupied. The
silence that had once been sweet now
meant nothing to him except medium
whereby he might the better hear the
sounds Of pursuit. The loneliness, the
night, the wild, that had always been
! beautiful to him, now only conveyed
sense OF 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
he destination 1t was vague as his
knowledge OF that great waste of mes
quite and rock bordering the Rio
Grande. Somewhere out there was a
reruge. For he was a fugitive from
This being an outlaw then meant
eternal vigilance. No home, no rest,
no sleep, no content, no life worth the
living! He must be a lone wolf or he
must herd among men obnoxious to
MIN. II he worked for an honest living.
he still must hide his identity and take
risks Of detection. II he did not work
on some distant outlying ranch, how
was he to live? The idea of stealing
was repugnant to him. The future
seemed gray and somber enough. Andr
ne was 20 years old. ,.
Why had this hard life been imposed
The bitter question seemed to start
a strange iciness that stole along his
veins. What was wrong with him? He
stirred the few sticks Of mesquite into
last flickering blaze. He was cold;
some light. The black circle Of.
darkness weighed down upon him,
closed in around him. Suddenly he
sat bolt upright and then froze
In that position. He had heard a step.
IL was behind him--no-on the other
n Nv. A 4. n
his hand down to his gun and the touch
OF cold steel was another icy shock.
Then he waited. But all was silent,
silent as only a wilderness arroyo can
be, with Its low murmuring Of wind in
the mesquite. Had he heard step?
He began to breathe again,
But what was the matter with the
light of his camp fire? It had taken on
strange green luster and seemed to
be waving of into the other shadows.
duane 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-
tionless, dying. Cal Balm! His features
were wonderfully distinct, clearer than
any cameo, more sharply outlined than
those OF any picture. 1t was a hard
face softening at the threshold of eter-
nifty. The red tan of sun, the coarse
hate so characteristic of Balm were no
longer there. This face represented a
different Balm, showed all that was hui
man In him fading, fading as swiftly.
as 1t blanched white. The lips wanted
to speak, but had not the power. The
eyes held an agony Of thought. They.
revealed what might have been possible
for this man IL he lived--that he saw
his mistake too late. Then they rolled
set blankly, and closed in death. ~
That haunting visitation left Duane
sitting there in cold sweat, q remorse
gnawing at his vitals, realizing the
curse that was on him. He divined'
that never would he be able to keep off
that phantom. He remembered how hist
father had been eternally pursued by,
the furies of accusing guilt. how he had
never been able to forget in work or In
sleep those men he had killed.
The hour was late when Duane's mind
let him sleep, and then dreams troubled
him. In the morning he bestirred him.
self so early that in the gray gloom he
had difficulty in finding his horse. Day
had just broken when he struck the old
trail again. 4E
He rode hard all morning and halted
in shady 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 D O'CLOCK IN the afternoon he
came to little river which marked the
boundary line Of his hunting territory.
The decision he made to travel up
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
were 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
he did not. Every feeling, every imag-
ming he had experienced the previous
| night returned somewhat more wildly
and accumulated by new ones of the
same intensity and color. tt".
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,