The Tabor independent. [volume] (Tabor, S.D.) 1913-19??, 1916-07-20
CHAPTER TX Continued.

were chattering. To find a shelter
in that barren waste seemed o futile
task. Quite Unexpectedly. however,
they happened upon deserted adobe
cabin situated little off the road. Not
only did II prove to have a dry inter-
Tor, but also there was firewood.
Water was available in pools every
where; however, there was no grass for
the horses.
A good fire and hot food and drink
changed the aspect Of their condition
as far as comfort went And Jennie
lay down to sleep. For Duane, how
ever there must be vigilance. This
cabin was no hiding place. The rain
fell harder all the time, and the wind
changed to the north. ITS a norther,
all right" muttered Duane. 1.-TWO or
three days" And he felt that his ex-
traordinary luck had not held out.
Still one point favored him, and 1t was
that travellers were not likely to come
along during the storm.
Jennie slept while Duane watched.
The saving OF this girl meant more to
him than any task he had ever as
sumed. First it had been partly from
a human feeling to succor an unfortu-
nate woman, and partly motive to
establish clearly to himself that he was
no outlaw. Lately, however, had come
q different sense. a strange one, with
tective in it,.
AS he looked down upon her, slight,
slender girl with bedraggled dress and
disheveled hair. her face, pale and
quiet, q little stern in sleep, and her
long, dark lasheg lying on her cheek,
he seemed to see her fragility, her pref
tiness, her femininity as never before.
But for him she might at that very
moment have been a broken, ruined
girl lying back in that cabin of the
Bands The fact gave him u feeling
Of his Importance in this shifting OF
her destiny. She was unframed, still
young: she would forget and be happy;
she would live to be a good wife and
mother. Somehow the thought swelled
his heart. Hic act, death dealing as 1t
had been, was a noble one, and helped
him to hold on to his drifting hopes.
Hardly once since Jennie had entered
into his thought had those ghosts re-
turned to torment him.
Tomorrow she would be gone among
good, kind people with a possibility of
finding her relatives. He thanked God
for that: nevertheless, he felt u pang.
She slept more than half the day.
Duane kept guard, always alert.
whether he was sitting, standing, or
walking. The rain battered steadily
on the roof and sometimes came in
gusty flurries through the door. The
horses were outside In shed that at
forded poor shelter, and they stamped
restlessly. Duane kept them saddled
and bridled.
About the middle OF the afternoon
Jennie awolle. They cooked a meal
and afterward sat beside the little fire.
She had never been, in his observation
of her, anything but a tragic figure. an
unhappy girl, the fartheSt removed
from serenity and poise. That char
acteristic capacity for agitation struck
him as stronger in her this day. He
attributed 1t, however, to the long
strain, the suspense nearing an end.
Yet sometimes when her eyes were on
him she did not seem to be thinking
Of her freedom, of her future.
This time tomorrow you'll be in
Shelbyville," he said.
Where will you be?" she asked,
quickly
"Me?" Oh, I'll be making tracks for
some lonesome place." he replied.
The girl shuddered.
I've been brought up in Texas.
remember what a hard lot the men of
my family had. But poor as they
were, they had a roof over their heads,
O hearth with a fire, a warm bed
somebody to love them. And you,
life be? You must ride and hide and
watch eternally. No decent food, no
pillow, no friendly word, no clean
clothes, no woman's hand! Horses,
guns. trails. rocks. holes--these must
be the important things in your life.
You must go on riding. hiding. killing
until you meet"
her head on her knees. Duane was
amazed, deeply touched.
My girl, thank you for that thought
OF me-" he said, with a trenor in his
voice. You don't know haw much
that means to me-"
She raised her face, and 1t was tear
stained, eloquent, beautiful.
to the bad out there. You won't
Promise me you won't. I never-knew
any man-like you. live may
never see each other again--after to-
day. I'll never forget you. I'll pray
for you. and I'll never give up trying
to-to do something. Don't despair.
It's never too late. It was my hope that
kept me alive-out there at BANDS
before you came. 1 was only poor
weak girl. But IL / could hope--so
can you. Stay away from men. Be a
lone wolf Fight for your life. Stick
out your exile-and maybe-some
day" '. ''' '' e..
Then she lost her voice. Duane
clasped her hand and with feeling as
ueep DIS HesB PROMISED 10 TeIneUlDeT neT
words. In her despair for him she had
spoken wtsdom-pointed out the only
course. .n' ''t "
Duane's vigilance, momentarily
broken by emotion, had no sooner re-
asserted itself than he discovered the
bay horse, the one Jennie rode, had
broken his halter and gone off. The
soft wet earth had deadened the sound
Of his hoofs. His tracks were plain In
the mud. There were clumps Of
mesquite In sight, among which the
horse might have strayed. II turned
out, however, that he had not done so.
Duane did not want to leave Jennie
alone In the cabin so near the road.
So he put her UP on his horse and babe
her follow. The rain had ceased for
the time being. though evidently the
storm was not yet over. The tracks led
UP wash to q wide flat where mes
quite, prickly pear, and thorn bush
grew 80 thickly that Jennie could not
ride Into 1t. Duane was thoroughly
concerned. He must have her horse.
Time was flying. 1t would soon be
night. He could not expect her to
scramble quickly through that brake
on foot. Therefore, he decided to risk
leaving her at the edge Of the thiclnet