Evening star., 1921-12-18

like-Tve seen her. Only-only 1
never knew who she was until Dad
Cushman told me. And I'll believe
Dad Cushman-if he is forger. He
took his own. medicine: he went up
for his own jobs. He didn't hide be-
hind no woman's skirts to keep out
Of it,"
Again he reached for the door.
Again she strove to block him.
"Bart-honey-it's all a mistake.
Bart, wait-wait-"
What for-the sheriff." A big
tore them from his neck. wait. huh?
So you can get that thousand dollars?
For a Christmas present." He sneered.
NO. you wait. It's going to be lot
more afore I'm finished-and you
won't get it. That's my satisfaction"
He laughed at her. You won't get it
Understand that And you amt go
ing to get one other thing you want,
because I'll get him first! Remember
that, too! Now get out Of my way"
Sobbing, she sought again to halt him.
One fling of a great arm. and she was
swept aside; the key grated as he drew
it forth. Then the door swung open, to
be slammed and locked. Ne was in the
hall, hearing. in almost vacant fashion
as he crept along. the hysterical screams
of the woman he had left behind.
There were steps on the stairs. A
voice said
That's her yelling. Must be beating
her up. Take it easy. boys-we'll sneak
up there and break in on 'em."
The head of Bart Carson sank close
to his shoulders. Stealthily he crept to
the edge of the wall where it stopped
sheer at the stairway. They were half
way up now, three Of them coming to-
gether. Two more steps, and four after
that! Then with a sudden sidelong,
sprawling motion, the convict sprang
to the center Of the entryway and
leaped.
Five swimming feet, and he struck
them, one shoulder smashing the sheriff
full in the chest, each widespread arm
catching a deputy full under the chin
and sending them backward. A tangled,
gathering mass, they tumbled and roll
ed down the reverberating old wooden
stairway and into the street. Then one
form sprang to it's feet, brushed aside
the breathless few who scurried for
ward at the unexpected turmoil, and
dived across the blizzard -dimmed bright
ness Of the thoroughfare to the black
ness of an alley beyond.
Pursuit would be matter of several
minutes, he knew. A glance over his
shoulder revealed to him a quickly
thickening crowd before the doorway,
seeking explanations and the satisfac-
ton Of immediate curiosity before TAX
ing the trail. And the delay would be
sufficient. He swerved into cross
alley. skirted the darker streets which
led to the railroad yards, and there, a
huddled figure in the shadow of a
switch shanty, waited until the local
freight, just pulling out for Creston,
should gather speed before he scram-
bled to the iron stirrup of box car
and thence to the dangerous blackness
Of the bumpers.
1t all seemed to come naturally,
easily, to Bart Carson, this new life
Of the fugitive. Time had been when
his sole interest in life consisted of a
good horse, the chuck-wagon within
easy range during the roundup and
a garish reward each year for the
toll and the exertions Of long hours
in the saddle when frontier days
rolled around, and he, with the rest
Of the wild bunch" sprawled and
laughed in front of the rodeo grand
stand during the wild-horse race. or
clung grimly to the hurricane deck
of some sunfishing. twisting outlaw
in the contest for the bucking-horse
championship of the world. Nerve
had been only a matter OF second ma
ture then, a thing which came with
out bidding Now. however. it was
oeing summoned i'll all its crude