The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1927-05-13
CHAPTER xI-continued

tremDllng morse, mounted up, crossed
the bridge-the wagon close behind
and struck through the brush to the
right and into the old trail.
They had hardly entered it before
the serious difficulty of making their
way up the river was evident. The
trail, heavily overgrown with brush,
had become impossible by night, and
the wagon track had been washed
into countless gullies by the rains of
years. He rode back trying to think
out an escape from his dilemma.
"Dave has an old shack down at
Calabasas. hate to take him among
the horse-thieves, but it's any port in
a storm. There's a trail from Gala
basas through the hills that comes
out on the river just above the old
beaver dam, and when can get back
to help, We'll get him to camp that
way, The trick now will be to turn
the wagon around. Unhitch the team
and we'll do it by hand"
Selwood took the horses while Par
daloe and Scott, with many pulls, got
the wagon to where the horses could
handle it again, and the cavalcade
struck across the Sinks on the Thief
hole on the Spanish desert. An hour
or SO later with good going, they had
reached Calabasas-the haunt of men
esteemed. of all men, meanest in the
high country.
The holes in the canyons, the tum-
bledownN shacks that sheltered these
denizens of Calabasas were still as
death when the wagon. guided by Sell
wood. by lantern. by SCOTS instinct
and by main force. halted with as lit
tie noise as possible near what Sell
wood pronounced Tracy's cabin. Sell
wood got down from his horse and.
calling to Scott for the dog. slipped
Chloe's muzzle and held her on the
leash. The mastiff whinnied and
jumped at him. licking his hands as
he caught her by the collar and lei
her toward the cabin door.
Selwood hoped that, with Saturday
night and the constant probability
that any squatter occupant was more
likely to be sleeping there in the day.
time than at night, the shack might
be unoccupied.
Crawling on the ground and feeling
his way to the door from the side.
where he was partly protected by the
sill log, Selwood got his hand on the
lower part of the batten door. 1t
hung, he remembered, on leathern
strips, and 1t stood now in the night
partly ajar, seemingly supported only
by the upper thong. Chloe, his hand
on her collar, pushed her nose into
the opening between the door and
the jamb and strained at the leash.
but she did not growl. Selwood al
, lowed her to crawl inside, which she
did with great gusto, held her a mo-
ment at the leash's length, and then
released her. He could hear the dog
scurrying about inside. but knew at
once the cabin was empty. Gun in
har ne went to the wagon. Scott
passed out a lantern, and Selwood,
returning, carefully pulled open the
door and entered.
The lantern light revealed rough
table, a rickety chair, and a home
made stool. In the upper left-hand
corner stood the double-decked bunk
Tracy had built, and in which Selwood
had slept the first highland the only
night-he had ever slept in Calabasas.
There was coarse bedding in both
decks A rough rock fireplace stood
at the lower end of the cabin. Be-
side the fireplace stood an empty box
appended. Selwood knew well its use.
Like candle snuffer for candle, it
was there to set over and conceal
instantly fire on the hearth.
In a few moments the three men.
by the light Of the lantern. had
cleaned out the place. The bedding
was dumped outside, together with a
battered frying-pan and coffee-pot
and some canned goods. Kerosene
from a handy can was poured freely
over the bunk, rubbish was pushed on
the hearth and lighted. And with
Chloe blinking at the flames, Tracy,
still asleep on the cot, was lifted
from the wagon backed up to the
door into the shack and placed In
the corner farthest from the bunk
and near the open fire. When Parda-
loe and Scott had brought in light
supplies for breakfast, Selwood III
rected the two men to go to sleep in
the wagon.
Re-entering the cabin, he sat down
beside Tracy. SelwoOd had been long
too busy with life to think of. death /;
but in Tracy's appearance 1t had
seemed more than once Of late to
stare at him; tonight the old face
looked more like death than ever.
The thought Of Christie kept far
ing, like the fitful flame on the hearth.
In his heart. She would have listened
to him, he felt, had he been anything
but what old Dave was, common
gambler. And what had he to expect
but a death such as this If he ended
life like this? Only. at best, a
quicker death, a violent death at the
hands Of some other Outcast like