Evening times-Republican. [volume] (Marshalltown, Iowa) 1890-1923, 1917-01-05

for the glory in 1t. Inem KIND or men
will bob up everywhere you SO.
Duane"
'I'll be able to ride and take care Of
myself in day or two" went on
Duane. "Then I'll go-Td like to talk
to you about Jennie"
"She's welcome to home here with
u.s."
'sThank you, Andrews. You're a
kind man. But l want Jennie to get
farther away from the Rio Grande.
She'd never be safe here"
"All right. Duane. Whatever you
think best. I reckon now you'd better
20 north an strike for Shebyville.
I'll tell Jennie the names Of men who'll
help her. You needn't ride into town
at ALL"
At sunset two days later Duane and
Jennie mounted their horses and said
good.by to the rancher and his wife.
Andrews would not listen to Duane's
thanks.
II tell you I'm beholden to you yet"
he declared.
swell, what can 1 do for your
asked Duane. II may come along here
again some day"
you're no friend of mine. An good
luck to you both !"
Duane and Jennie trotted away into
the gathering twilight. The sky was
overcast with heavy clouds; there was
no air moving; the heat and oppres-
sion threatened storm. BY and by
Duane could not see rod in front OF
him, though his horse had no difficulty
in keeping to the road. To his an
|~noyance, however, a fine, misty rain
set in. Jennie was not well dressed
for wet weather and, for that matter,
neither was he. His coat, which in
that dry warm climate he seldom
needed, was tied behind his saddle,
and he put it on Jennie. The night
passed quickly despite the discomfort,
and soon gray, dismal, rainy dawn
greeted the travellers.
Jennie insisted that he find some
shelter where fire could be built to
dry his clothes. He was not in fit
condition to risk catching cold. In
fact, Duane's teeth were chattering.
To find shelter in that barren waste
seemed futile task. Quite unex-
pectedly, however, they happened upon
deserted adobe cabin situated little
off the road. Not only did it prove
to have a dry interior, but also there
was 1irewood. Water was available in
pools everywhere; 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.
Jennie slept while Duane watched.
The saving Of this girl meant more
to him than any task he had ever as
sumed. -
AS he looked down upon her, a
slight, slender girl with bedraggled
dress and disheveled hair, her face,
pale and quiet, little stern in sleep,
and her long. dark lashes lying on her
cheek, he seemed to see her fragility,
her prettiness, her femininity as never
before. But for him she might at
that very moment have been broken,
ruined girl lying back in that cabin of
the BANDS. The fact gave him a feel
ing 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 S5rneliow tie
thought swelled his heart. His act,
death-dealing as it 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 returned to
torment him. .-..
Tomorrow she would be gone among
good. kind people with possibility Of
finding her relatives. He thanked
God for that; nevertheless, he felt a
pang. .--
About the middle Of the afternoon
Jennie awoke. They cooked meal
and afterward sat beside the little
fire. Sometimes when her eyes were
on him she did not seem to be think
ing of her freedom, of her future.
"This time tomorrow you'll be in
Shelbyville," he said. --.. ,,,-.--.~ -. f. --
"Where will you be-" she asked,
quickly. "a ...-~
"Me? Oh, I'll be making tracks for
some lonesome place" he replied.
The girl shuddered.
"Ive been brought up in Texas. /
L. l<a44