The Tabor independent. [volume] (Tabor, S.D.) 1913-19??, 1916-09-28

SIlSS6luIue. Sptu IlOSIlllIy w liS
Of them and another of the chiefs
righthand men! Among outlaws that
sort of thing was deadly serious. Cen
orally such matters were settled with
guns. Duane gathered encouragement
even from disaster. Perhaps the disin-
tegration of Cheseldine's great band
had already begun. But what did Knell
know? Duane did not circle aroun the
Idea with doubts and hopes; II knell
knew anything it was that this stranger
in Ord, this new partner OF F1etchers'
was no less than Buck Duane.
Well, it was about time thought Duane,
that he made use Of his name If it were
been MacNally's hope. He had anch-
ored all his scheme to Duane's fame.
Duane was tempted to ride off after
Fletcher and stay with him. This, now
ever, would hardly be fair to an out
law who had been fair to him. Duane
concluded to await developments n
when the gang rode in to Ord, prob
ably from their various hiding places,
he would be there ready to be de-
nounced by Knell. Duane could not see
any other elimination Of this series OF
events than a meeting between knell
and himself. If that terminated fatally
for Knell there was all probability OF
Duane's being in no worse
than he was now. If Poggin took up
the quarrel! Here Duane accused him
self agafn-tried in vain to revolt from
G. judgment hat he was only reason
ing out excuses to meet these outlaws.
Meanwhile, instead OF waiting, why
not hunt up Cheseldine in his mountain
retreat? The thought no sooner struck
Duane than he was hurrying for his
horse.
He left Ord ostensibly toward Brad
ford, but, once out Of sight, he turned
off h road, circled through the brush,
and several miles south of town he
struck a narrow grass-grown trail that
Fletcher had told him led to Chesel-
dimes camp. The horse tracks along this
trail were not less than a week old, and
very likely much more. 1t wound. be-
tween low, brush-covered foothills.
through arroyos and gullies lined with
mesquite, cottonwood, and s~crub-oak.
In an hour Duane struck the slope OF
Mount Ord, n as he climbed he got
a view Of the rolling, black spotted
country, partly desert, partly fertile,
with long, bright lines of dry stream
beds winding away to grow dim in the
distance. He got among broken rocks
and cliffs and here the open, downward
rolling land disappeared, and he was
hard put to 1t to find the trail. He lost
1t repeatedly and made slow progress.
Finally he climbed into a region of all
rock benches, rough here, smooth there,
WIFI OILY dl OCCdSlOIldl IdISh VI hoia
horseshoe to guide him. Many times he
had to go ahead and then work to right
or left till he found his way again. 1t
was slow work; 1t o o all day; and
! night found him halfway up the noun
tain. He halted at a little side-canon
with grass and water, and here he made
| camp. The night was clear and cool at
that height, with a dark blue sky and a
streak Of stars blinking across. With
this day of action behind him he felt
better satisfied than he had been for
some time. Here, on this venture, ne
was answering to a call that had so
often directed his movements, perhaps
his life, and 1t was on that logic or in
telligence could take little stock Of. And
on this night, lonely like h ones he
used to spend in the Nueces gorge, and
memorable OF them because of a like
ness to nat old hiding-place, he felt the
pressing return Of old haunting things
the past so long ago, wild flights,
dead faces-and the places Of these
were taken by n quiveringly alive,
white, tragic, with it's dark, intent,
speaking eyes-Ray Longstreth's.
That last memory he yielded to until
he slept.
In the morning, satisfied that he had
left still fewer tracks than heIhad fol-
lowed up this trail, he led his horse up
to the head Of the canon, there a narrow
crack in low cliffs, and with branches
of cedar fenced him in. Then he went
back and took up the trail on foot.
Without the horse he made better
time and climbed through deep clefts,
wide canons, over ridges, up shslving
slopes, along precipices-a long, hard
climb-till he reached what he con
cluded was a divide. Going down was
easier, though the farther he followed
this dim and winding trail the wider the
| hnnlyan H. tf1nDa nnta nf YNnly AhnNya him
he saw the black fringe Of pinon and
pine, and above that the bold peak,
bare, yellow, like a desert butte. Once,
through a wide gateway between great
escarpments, he saw the lower country
beyond the range, n beyond this, vast
and clear DIT it lay in his sight, was
the great river that made the Big Bend.
He went down and down, wondering
how q horse could follow that broken
trail, believing there must be another
better one somewhere into Cheseldine's
hiding place.
He rounded a jutting corner, where
view had been shut off, and presently
came out upon the rim of a high wall.
Beneath, like a green gulf seen through
blue haze, lay an amphitheater walled
in on the two sides he could see. 1t lay
perhaps 1000 feet below him; and, plain
as all the other features Of that wild
environment, there shone out a big red
stone or ADOBE CABIN, Whlte water Snln-
ing away between great borders, and
horses and cattle dotting the levels. 1t
was a peaceful, beautiful scene. Duane
could not help grinding his teeth at the
thought Of rustlers living there in
quiet and ease.
Duane worked half way down to the
level, and, we'll hidden in a niche, he
settled himself to>watch both trail and
valley. He made note Of the position
of the sun and saw that If anything de-
Veloped or II he decided to descend any
farther there was small likelihood of
his getting back to his camp before
dark. To try that after nightfall he i'm
agined would be vain effort.
Then he bent his keen eyes down
ward. The cabin appeared to be a crude
structure. Though large in size, 1t had,
Of course, been built by outlaws.
There was nc garden, no cultivated
field, no corral. Excepting for the rude
pile OF stones aad logs plastered to-
gether with mud, the valley was as wild,
probably, as on the day Of discovery.
Duane seemed to have been watching
for a long time before he saw any sign
Of man, and this one apparently went to
the stream for water n returned to