Gfc LONE
☆
ARorwxcr or the border^
frzmz GREY [ zr*m
AUTHOR OF
“THE LIGHT OF WESTERN
STARS"
“RIDERS OF THE PURPLE
SAGE", ETC.
COPYRIGHT, BY KASPER ANC. BROTHERS
SYNOPSIS,
CHAPTER I—In Wcllston, TrTs«, It
fce -oines with Buckley Duane a <j. - of
hp.h? or run from Cal Bain. Duane kikls
his man and becomea an outlaw.
CHAPTER II—He me*ets Luke Stev
( HAFTER HI Stevens goes !nt.n ti e
tovvii of M«tc* r to buy supplies end ,s
uiiot by a rancher. Duane buries him.
,'IT AFTER IV— Duane goes to Bland's
outlaw stronghold fn the ]* m Koek and
ii; ter shooting Bosomer, who quarrels
with Mm ov< r St. ns;' rh.th de*-,.;
to frtay ther**. Euchre takes Duan** for
a partner ami tells him about Bland,
the outlaw chief mil his band.
CHAPTER V Duane practices run
tbrowing and hears more about Bland
and his gung.
CHAPTER VI — Euchre anl Dii'inp
call on Kate Bland's wife, and Jennie
a Kiri whom Benson kidnaped and roll
to Bland.
CHAPTER VII—Euehre and Duane
conspire to tike Jennie away. Duane
prevents a wanton murder.
CHAPTER VTTT-Mrs. Bland make*
love to Duane and he uses h r t«» Do
ttier his plans Bland returns from a
trip He asks Duane to join tin* hand.
He Is jealous of Du tne and abuses Kate
and Jennie.
CHAPTER TX—Euchre kill * Ben-on.
is killed bv Allowav. Duane kills Allo
wn v and Bland and escap-s. wounded, i
with Jennie. In a deserted but in the
mesquite Jennie nuros him.
CHAPTER X—When Dunne is simmer
enough they travel out of the Rim R ***k
to a rancher’s bonne, whrn* Duane r>
covers. On their way to Slielhvvilb*
Jennie is carried off by outlaws while
Duane is away looking for a strayed
horse.
'CHAPTER XI.
A hundred milr from the haunts
most familiar with Duane's deeds, far
U]t where (he Nueces ran a trickling
clear stream hot ween yellow dill's,
siood a small deserted shack of cover
ed mestjnlte poles. It hnd been made
long ago, but was well preserved. A
door fuctal the overgrown trail, and
another faced down Into a gorge of
dense thickets. On the border fttgi- j
fives from law and men who hid in I
fear of someone they had wronged
never lived in houses with only one
door.
It was a wild spot, lonely, not lit
for human habitation except for the |
outcast.
On clear days—and rare indeed were
cloudy days—with the subsiding of the
wind at sunset a hush seemed to fall |
around the little hut. Fur-distant dim
blue mountains stood gold-rimmed
gradually to fade with the shading of
light.
At this quiet hour n man climbed ]
V.p out of the gorge and sat itf the I
westward door of the hut. This lonely
watcher of the west and listener to the
silence was Ihmtic. And this hut was
the one where, three years before,
Jennie had nursed him back to life.
The killing of a man named Sellers,
and the combination of circumstances
that had made the tragedy a memor
able regret, had marked, if not a
change, at least a cessation in Duane’s
activities, lit* had trailed Sellers to
kill him for the supposed abducting
of Jennie. Vague rumors, a few words
here and there, uiumthenticated stor
ies were all that Duane had gathered
in years to substantiate his belief
that Jennie tiled shortly after tin* be
ginning of her second captivity.
Sellers might have told him. Duane
expected, if not to force it from him
211 the end, to read it in Ids eyes. Hut
the bullet went too unerringly; it
locked his lips and fixed Ids i*ycs.
After that meeting Imane lay long
at the ruuch-hmi.se of a friend, and
when lie recovered from the wound
Hellers had given him he started with
two horses and a pack for the lonely
gorge oil the Nueces. There he had
been hidden for months, a prey to re
morse, a dreamer, a victim of
phantoms.
It took work for him to find sub
sistence in that rocky fastness. And
work, action, helped to pass tin- hours.
Blit he could not work all tin* time,
even if lie had found it to do. Then
in his Idle moments and at night his
task was to live with the hell in his
mind.
The sunset and the twilight hour
made all the rest' hearable. The little
liut on the rim of the gorge seemed to
hold Jennie’s presence. It was not
ns if he fejt her spirit. If it had hern
he would have been sure of her death.
He hoped Jennie had not survived her
second misfortune; and that intense
hope hud burned Into belief, if not
surety.
A strange feature of this memory
of Jennie was the freshness of it the
failure of years, toil, strife, death- j
dealing lo dim it to lieadeti ill.*
thought of wind might have been, lie
had a marvelous gift of visuali'alion.
He could shut Ids eyes and see Jennie
before him just as clearly as if she
hud stood there in the flesh. For
I i'iivs hr did drmm’ng. ilmnnlns
of life lie hud never tasted and new
never would taste, lie fhougld of her
I "'a lit y and sweetness, of the few
tilings wld<di laid come to mean to
him that she must have hived him:
and he trained himself to think of
:!iese in pieference to her life at
I'dand's, the escape with him. and
tfit'll hi r recatitare. Iiecatn-e such mem
ories led to bitter, fruitless pain, lie
hud to tii^iii suffering because it was
eating out his heart.
Sifting there, eyes wide open. lie
ireamcii of the old homestead and his
••Idle-haired mother, lie saw the old
home lite, sweetened and filled by dear
new fares mid added joys, go on l.e
■>re his eyes with him a part of it.
Then in Die inevitable reaelion. in
1 lie reiiitx of hitter reality, be would
send out 11 voieeless cry no less
poignant bemuse it was silent:
I’oor fool ! No, 1 shall never see
mother again never go home never
have a home. 1 am iMiane. the Lone
Wolf!”
A group of specters trooped oil* of
the shadows of dust; and, gathering |
round him. escorted him to his bed.
Kvei'y one of Ills victims, singly and
eoli'-et i\ely. returned to him for ever,
it seenn d, in cold passionless, accus
ing domination. They did not accuse ^
i 7 ” 1
For Hours He Did That, Dreaming.
Him of dishonor or cowardice or brutal
ity or murder; they only accused him
of death, it was us if they knew more
than when they were alive, had lor ru
ed that life was a divine mysterious
jril't not to bo taken. They thronged
about him with their voiceless clamor
ing. drifted around him with their
fading eyes.
Aft it nearly six months in the
Nueces gorge the loneliness unit inac
tion of his fife drove Duane out upon
1 lie trails seeking anything rather
than to hide longer alone, ft prey to
the scourge of his thoughts. The mo
ment he rode into sight of men a re
markahle transformation occurred in
him. A slrnnge warmth stirred in him
—-a longing to see the faces of people,
to hear their voices- a pleasurable
emotion sad and strange, lint it was
only a precursor of Ids old bitter,
sleepless, ami eternal vigilance.
Merci r was the first village he rode 1
into. lie had many friends there.
Mercer claimed to owe lhiane a debt.
On tin' outskirts of the village there
was a grave overgrown l>y brush so
that the rude-lettered post which
marked il was scarcely visible io
Minute as lie rode by. lie had never
read the inscription. lint he thought
now of Hardin. I'or many years Hard
in had harassed the stockmen and
rancher!? in siml around Mercer. On
an evil day for him lie or ltis outlaws
had beaten and robbed a man who
once succored Duane when sore in
need. Duane met Hardin in the little
plana of ihe village, called him every
mime known to border men, taunted
him In draw, and killed him in tin* act.
Duane went to the house of otto
Jones, a Texan who had known ltis
father, and there lie was warmly re
ceived. The feel of an honest hand,
(he voice of it friend, the prattle of
children "lm were not afraid of him
or ltis gun, good wholesome food, and j
change of clothes—these tilings for
the time being made a changed man
of Duane. ’I'" I"’ sure, lie did not often j
speak. The price of ills head and the
weight of Ids burden made him silent,
lad eagerly lie drank in all the news
that "as told him. In I lie years of Ids
absence fmm'lmmc li ■ had never heard
a wont iihoul Ids mother or uncle.
Xiiosg Villio \\ ci i.' his reel friiuitls oil
the border would li:ivo been tIn* lost
to make inquiries, to write or receive
loiters that might give it clue to
I Minin''s whereabouts.
1 'iir.ue remained all day with this
hospitable Jones, an 1 as twilight fell
wtts loath to go ami yielded to a press
ing invitation to retnain overnight. It
was seldom indeed that Duane slept
under a roof. Marly in the evening,
while Duane sat on the porch with two
I awed and hero-worshiping sons of the
i house, Jones returned from a quick
visit down to tlie nostoflice. Shmnmir
li.v he sent the hoys off. lie iabort d
under intense excitement.
“Duane, there’s rangers in town,” he
whispered, ‘‘it's all over town, too.
j that you're in re. You rode in long
I after sunup. Lots of people saw you. I
1 don't believe there’s a limn or boy tha(
d squeal on you. Hut the women
might. They gossip, and these rangers
are handsome fellows—devils with the
I women.”
“Whitt company of rangers?" r..»ke.
! Duane, quietly.
“Company A. under Captain Mac
Nelly, that new ranger. He made u
big name in the war. And since tie's
been in the range servlet' lie's done
wonders, lie's cleaned tip some bud
places s unit, ami lie's working north."
"MacYell.v. I've heard of him. De
scribe him to me."
; "Sliglit-btiiii chap, but wiry and
j tough. Clean face, black mustache and
hair. Sharp black eyes. He’s got a
j look of authority. MacNolly's a tine
man, Duane. Delongs to a good
Southern family. I d bate to have him
look you up.”
I Maine tiitl not speak.
"MacNelly s got nerve, and his rang
' rs an all experienced men. If they
I,ml out you’re here they’ll come after
you. Mac.Yelly's no gun-fighter, but
be wouldn’t hesitate to do his duty,
even if tic faced sure death. Which
he would in Ibis ease. Duane, you
mustn't meet Captain Mat-Nelly. Your
it-1 -I'l'il is clean, if it is terrible. You
never met a ranger or any ptiicer ex
cept a rotten sheriff now and then,
like I tod Drown."
Sliil Dunne kept silence. He was
not thinking of danger, but of the fact
of how fleeting mu i In' ins stay
| among friends.
I vo already fixed uj> a pack of
grub." wont mi .Tones. “I’ll slip out
to saddle your liorso. You watch here."
lie had scarcely uttered the last
: words when soft, swift footsteps
sounded on the hard path. A man
turned in the gate. The light was
dim, yet clear enough to disclose an
unusually tall figure. When it ap
I ]»enred nearer he w as seen to he walk
i mg with both arms raised, hands high.
| lie slowed his stride.
“lines Hurt Jones live here?” he
ashed, in a low, hurried voice.
“I reckon. I'm Burt. What can I
do for you?” replied Jones.
The stranger peered around, stealth5
Hy came closer, still with his hands up.
"It Is known that Buck Duane Is
here, t'nplain MacXelly’s camping on i
the river just out of town. lie sends
w ord to Duane to come out there after
dark.”
The stranger wheeled and departed
as swiftly and strangely as he had
come.
“Bust me! Duane, whatever do you
make of that?" exclaimed Jones.
“A uew one on me,” replied Duane, 1
thoughtfully.
“first fool thing T ever heal’d of
MaeXelly doing. Can't make head nor
tails of it. I'd have said off-hand
that MaeXelly wouldn't double-cross
anybody, tie struck nte a square man,
sand all through. But liell! be must
mean treachery. 1 can't see anything
else in that degl.”
“Mayhe the Captain wants to give
me a fair chance to surrender without
bloodshed,” observed Duane. “Pretty .
decent of him, if he meant that.”
“He invites you to come to his catnp
after dark. Something strange about
this, Dunne. But MacXelly’s a new
man out here. He does some queer
things. Perhaps lie’s getting a swelled
head. Well, whatever his intentions,
his presence around .Mercer is enough
for us. Duane, you hit the road and
put some miles between you and the
amiable Captain before daylight. To
morrow I'll go out there mid ask him
what in Ibe devil he meant.”
“That messenger he sent—he was a
ranger,” said Inianc.
Sure ho wns, and a norv.v one! It
must have taken sand to oolite hjj
you that way. I>uane, the follow
didn't pa<,k a gun. I'll swear to that.
I’retty odd, this trick. Hut you can't
trust it. Hit the road. Duane."
A little later it Mack horse with
mufllod hoofs, hearing a tall dark rider
who peered keenly into every shadow,
trotted down a pasture lane hack of
.lones* house, turned into the road,
and then, breaking into swifter gait,
rapidly left Mercer behind.
CHAPTER XII.
Next morning Duane was off again,
working south. During the next few
days he paid brief visits to several
villages that lay in his path. And in
each some particular friend had a
piece of news to impart that made
Duane profoundly thoughtful. A
ranger had made a quiet, unoblrttsive
call upon these friends and left this
message, “Toll Huek Duane to ride
into Captain MnrXelly’s camp some
time after night."
Duane eoneluded, and his friends nil
agreed with him, that the new ranger's
main purpose in the Xueres country
was to rapture or kill Hack Duane,
and that this message was simply an
original and striking ruse, the daring
of which might appeal to ei rtaiu out
law s.
Hut il ifd not appeal to Dunne. His
curiosity was aroused; it did not, how
ever, tempi hinj to any foolhardy get.
IIo turned southwest timl rode a hun
j dred miles iiniil lie again reached (he
sparsely settled country Here he
heard no more of rangers.
lie got into rough country, rode for
three days without covering much
ground, hut believed that he was get
I ling on safer territory. Twice lie came
to a wide bottom-land green With vil
iow and cottonwood i.nd thick ns
rhamimil, y niewh- re through the
middle of whicli ran a river he de
rided must he the lower Nueces.
One evening as in* .‘hole out from
a covert where lie had camped, he . aw
the lights of a village. lie trie<; to
pass it tin the n it. hat a . he mounted
a ridge lie noted that the roail mane a
sharp turn, and lie ..add not see what
was beyond it. lb s'-nved up anil
was making tin* turn v ■. >■ ,a< down
liili between high hanks hi \**i o\v
clay, when iiis mettlesome horse innrd
something to frighten him or shirt; at
something and boiiej.
The few hounds ho took before
Dunne’s iron arm checked him were
enough to reach the curve. one
flashing glance showed Duane tit" open
once more, a little valley below with u
wide, shallow, rocky stream, a clump
of cottonwoods beyond, tt somber
group of men facing him, and two
chirk, limp, strangely grotesque figures
hanging from branches.
The sight was common enough in
sou fit west Texas, but Duane had m ver
before found himself so unpleasantly
close.
A hoarse voice pealed out: “By hell!
there’s another one!”
“Stranger, ride down an’ account fer
yourself!” yelled ,another,
“Hands-up!’’
“Tliet's right. .Tack; don’t take no
chances. Plug him!”
These remarks were so swiftly tit
tered as almost to he continuous,
Duane* was wheeling his horse when a
rille cracked. The bullet struck ltis
left forearm and he thought broke it,
fer he dropped the rein. The frighten
ed horse leaped. Another bullet
whistled past Duane. Then the bend
In the road saved him probably from
certain death. Like the wind ltis fleet
Steed went down the long hill.
Dunne was In no hurry to look hack.
He knew what to expect. His chief
concern of the moment was for his
injured arm. He found that the hones
were still Intact ; lint tile wound, hav
ing been made by a soft bullet, was an
exceedingly bad one. Blood poured
from it. Giving the horse Ids head,
Duane wound Ids scarf tightly round
the holes, and with teeth and hand
tied it tightly. That done, he looked
back over his shoulder.
Riders were making the dust fly on
the hillside road. There were more
coming round the cut where the road
curved. Duane needed only one glance
to tell him that they were fast and
hard-riding Cowboys in a land where
all riders are good. They would not
have owned tiny hut strong, swift
horses. Moreover, it wfis a district
where ranchers had suffered beyond
all endurance the greed and brutality
of outlaws. Dttane had simply been so
unfortunate as to run right into a j
lynching party at a time of all times
when any stranger would lie in danger
and any outlaw put to his limit to
escape with his life.
Duane did not look back again till I
he had crossed the ridgy piece of
ground and hud gotten to the level
road. He had gained upon his pur
suers. When he ascertained this he
tried to save his horse, to check a little
that killing gait. This horse was a
magnificent animal, big, strong, fast;
The Sight^Was Common Enough.
but his endurance had never been put
to u grueling lest. And that worried
Duane. llis life had made it im
possible to keep one horse very ions
at a time, and this one was an un
known (piantity.
Duane had only one plan—the only
plan possible in this ease- -and that
was to make the river-hottoins, where
lie might elude his pursuers in the
willow brakes. fifteen miles or so
would bring him to the river, and this
was not a hopt less distance for any
good horse if not too closely pressed.
Hi' began to hope and look for a trail
or a road turning off to right or left.
Tin re was none. A rough, mosquite
dotled and yueea-splred country ex
tended away on either side. Duane
believed that he would be compelled to
take to tliis bard going. One thing
was certain he had’to go round the
village. The river, however, wrs ou
the outskirts of the village; and once
in the willows, he would he sufe.
Dust-clouds far ahead caused Ids
alarm to grow. He watched with his
eyes strained; he hoped to see a
wagon, a few stray cuttle. l?ut no,
he soon descried several horsemen.
Shots and yells behind him attested
to the fact that Ids pursuers likewise
had seen these newcomers on the scene.
More than a mile separated these two
parties, yet that distance did not keep
them from soon understanding each j
other. Duane waited only to see this
new factor show signs of sudden quick
action, and then, with a muttered
ears. . he spurred his horse off the
rood into the brush.
lie chose tin* right side, beenus^the
river lay nearer that way and put his i
horse to his best efforts, straight
ahead, lie had to pass those men.
When this was seemingly made im
possible by a deep wash from which ,
he had to turn, Duane began to feel 1
cold and sick. Almost he lost his bear
ings, nnd finally would have ridden j
toward his enemies had not good
fortune favored him in tin* matter of
an open burned-over stretch of
ground.
Here he saw both groups of pur
suers, one on each side and almost |
within gunshot. Their sharp yells, as
much as his cruel spurs, drove his
horse into that pace which now meant i
life or death for him. And never had \
Duane bestrode a gainer, swifter, :
stancher beast. He seemed about to
accomplish tin* impossible. In the
dragging sand lie was far superior to
any horse in pursuit, and on tills sandy
open stretch he gained enough to spare
a little in the lirukh beyond. Heated
now and thoroughly terrorised, he kept
the pace through thickets that almost
tmv Duane from his saddle. Some
thing weighty and grim eased off
Duane. Ho was going to get out in
front ! The horse had speed, Are.
stamina.
A race began thcu, n (lusty, crushing
drive through gray mesquitc. Duane
could scarcely see, lie was so blinded
by slinging branches across his eyes.
The hollow wind roared in his ears.
He lost his sense of the nearness of
his pursuers. But they must have
been close. Did they shoot at him? lie
Imagined he heard shots. But that
might have been the cracking of dead
snags. His left arm hung limp, al
most useless; he handled the rein
with his right; and most of the time
lie hung low over the pommel.
Suddenly he burst out of a line of
mesquite into the road. A long stretch
of lonely road! How fiercely, with
hot, strange joy, he wheeled Ins horse
upon it! Then he was sweeping along,
sure now that he was out In front.
His horse still lmd strength and speed.
I but showed signs! of breaking. l*re
; sently Duane looked back. Pursuers—
iie could not count how nuiuy—were
loping along in his rear. He paid no
more attention to them, and with teeth
set lie faced ahead, grimmer now in
his determination to foil them.
Sight of the village ahead surprised
Duane. He reached it sooner than he
expected. Then lie made a discovery—
lie lmd entered the zone of wire fences.
As lie dared not turn back now, lie
kept on, intending to ride through the
village. Looking backward, lie saw
that bis pursuers were half a mile
distant, too lar to alarm any villagers
in time to intercept him in his flight.
As he rode by the first houses liis
horse broke and beguu to labor.
Duane did not believe he would lust
long enough to go through the village.
Saddled horses in front of a store
gave Duane un idea, not by any means
new, and one he had carried out suc
cessfully before. As he pulled In his
heaving mount and leaped off, a couple
of ranchers came out of the place, and
one of them stepped to a clean-lituhed,
fiery bay. He was about to get iuto
his saddle when he saw Duane, and
then he halted, u foot in the stirrup.
Duane strode forward, grasped the
bridle of this man's horse.
“Mine’s done—but not killed," he
panted. “Trade with me.”
“Will, stranger, I'm shore always
ready to trade,” drawled the man.
“But ain't you a little swift?"
Duane glanced back up the road.
His pursuers were entering the village.
i m Duane-—Buck Duane,” lie cried,
menacingly. “Will you trade? Hurry!"
The rancher, turned white, dropped
bis-(out from the stirrup and fell hack.
“1 reckon I’ll trade,” he said.
Bounding up, Duane dug spurs into
tin* bay’s thinks. The horse snorted
in fright, plunged Into a run. He was
fresh, swift, half wild. Duane flashed
by the remaining houses on the street
out into the open. But the road ended
at that village or else led out from !
some other quarter, for he had ridden
straight into the fields and from them
into rough desert. When he reached
the cover of niesqulte once more he
looked hack to find six horsemen with
in rifle shot of him, and more coming
behind them.
- llis new horse had not lmd time to
get warm before Duane reached a high
sandy bluff below which lay the willow
brakes. As far as he could see extend- i
ed ait immense fiat strip or red tinged
willow. How welcome it was to his
eye! lie felt like a hunted wolf that,
weary and lame, had reached his hole
in tile rocks. Zigzagging down the
soft slope, lie put the hav to the dense
wall of leaf and branch. But the
horse bulked.
There was litle time to lose. Dis
mounting he dragged thj* stubborn
beast into tile thicket. This was
harder and slower work titan Duane
cared to risk. If he had not been rush
ed lie might have had better success.
So In* had to abandon the horse a
eiroiimsinncc that only sm h sore
si rails could have driven him to. Then
he went, slipping swiftly through tlie
Barrow aisles.
He liad not got under cover uny
too soon. For he heard his pursuers
piling over the bluff, loud-voiced, con
fident, brutal. They crushed into the
willows.
“HI, Sid ! Heah’s your hoss!“ called
one, evidently to the man Duane had
forced Into a trade.
“Say, if you locoed gents 'll hold up
a little I'll tell you somethin’,” replied
a voice from the bluff.
“Come on, Sid! We’ve got him
corralled,” said the first speaker.
"Wal. mehbe, an’ If you hev it's lia
ble to be damn hot. Thet feller was
3uek Duane!”
Absolute silence followed that state
ment. Presently it wus broken by a
rattling of loose gravel and then low
voices.
“lie cnn’t git acrost the river, I tell
you,” came to Duane’s ears. “He's
corralled in the brake. 1 know thet
hole.”
Then Duane, gliding silently and
iwlftly through the willows, heard no
more from his pursuers. He headed
straight for the river. Threading a
passage through a willow brake was
an old task for him. Many days and
nights had gone to the acquiring of a
skill that might have been envied by
an Indian.
The Rio Grande and Its tributaries
for the most of their length In Texas
ran between wide, low, flat lands cov
ered by a dense growth of willow.
Cottonwood, mesqulte, prickly pear,
and other growths mingled with the
willow, and altogether they made a
matted, tangled copse, a thicket that
an inexperienced man would have
considered impenetrable.
The depths of this brake Duane had
penetrated was a silent, dreamy,
strange place. In the middle of the
day the light was weird and dim.
Lifted Enough Water to Quench Hi*
Thirst.
When n breeze Antlered Hip foliage,
then slender shafts mid spcars of sun
sliine pierced (lie green iiinntle un<l
danced like gold on the ground.
Duane had always felt the strange
ness of this kind of place, and like
wise he had felt a protecting, harbor
ing something which always seemed to
him to be the sympathy of the brake
for a limited creature. Any unwound
ed erenture, strong and resourceful,
was safe when he had glided under
the low, rustling green roof of this
wild covert.
Duane wanted to cross the river
if that was possible, and, keeping in
tlie brake, work his way upstream till
he had reached country more hospit
able. He pushed on. His left arm
Itad to be favored, as he could scarcely
move it. Using his right to spread
the willows, he slipped sideways be
tween them and made fast time.
Finally after a toilsome penetration
of still denser brush lie broke through
to the bank of the river.
He faced a wide, shallow, muddy
stream with brakes on the opposite
bank extendiug like a green and yellow
wall. Duane perceived at a glance
the futility of Ids trying to cross at
this point. Everywhere tin* sluggish
water laved quicksand bars, lb-fore
leaving the bank he tied Ids hat upon
a pole and lifted enough water in
quench Ids thirst. Then he worked
Ids way back to whore thinner growth
made advancement easier, and kept on
upstream till the shadows were so
deep lie could not see. Feeling around
for a jdace big enough to stretch out
on, he lay down. For the time being
he was as safe there as he would have
been beyond in the Him flock. He was
tired, though not exhausted, ami In
spite of the throbbing pain in Ids artu
he dropped at once into sleep.
tContinued Next Week.)
Japanese Sword Blades.
Worship of blades, common to ninny
ancient nations, never reaches such
1'oetlc expression as among the Japa
nese. When the brother of the sua
goddess, as ruler of the sea, slew that
great dragon which had been devastat
ing the land. Ia> took form the mon
ster's tail a marvelous sw ord. This the
sun goddess bestowed upon her grand
son, the first of the imperial line of
the land of cherry blossoms. This
sw ord, a .mirror and a single jewel con
stitute the regalia of Japan, the sword
lying in the ancient Shinto shrine of
Atsiita, where thousands of pilgrims
go yearly to pay it homage. The
monetary value of u Bin* Japanese
sword blade unmounted and un
adorned. uud such as the nobles wore
at one time, Was fro*u $1,000 to $1,500.
I