MAP PAMEB
AROMA/HCE OF TrtC BORDER^
6/fzmL grey ru
AUTHOR OF
'THE LIGHT OF WESTERN
STARS"
'RIDERS OF THE PURPLE
SAGE", ETC.
currmcHT. (r anc. bpotheu
SYNOPSIS.
CHAPTER I—In Wellston, Tcxss. It
Becomes with Buckley Duane n case of
furht or run from Cal Bain. Duane kills
ins man and becomes an outlaw.
CHAPTER II—He meets Luke Stev
ens. an outlaw.
CHAPTER III—Stevens pops into the
town of Mercer to buy supplies and is
shot by a rancher. Duane buries him.
CHAPTER IV Duane goes to Bland’s
outlaw stronghold in the Him Rock and
alter shooting Bosomer, who quarrels
with him over Stevens’ death, decides
to stay there. Euchre, takes Duane for
a partner and tells him about Bland,
the outlaw chief Mid his band.
CHAPTER V—Duane practices cun- 1
throwing ami hears more about Bland
and his gang.
CHAPTER VT—Euchre and Duane
call on Kate. Bland’s wife, and Jennie
a girl whom Benson kidnaped and sold
to Bland.
CHAPTER VII -Euchre and Duane
conspire to take Jennie away. Duane
prevents a wanton murder.
CHAPTER VIIT—Mrs Bland makes
love to Duane and he uses her to fur
ther his plans. Bland returns from a
trip He asks Duane to join the hand.
He is jealous of Duane and abuses Kate
and Jennie.
“Dunne, you’vo killed him!" cried
KntP Wand, huskily. “1 know you'll
lmve to!”
Sho ataggprpd against the wall. h»*r
eyes dilating. Imr strong hands oloni'h
Ing, her face slowly whittling. Slip
nppparpd shocked, half stunned, hut
showed no grief.
“.IpiiiiIp!” called Punno, sharply.
“Compout. Hurry!"
Slip ramp out with uneven stops, '
seeing only him. am! slip stumbled over
Bland’s body. Dunne caught her arm,
swung her behind him. lie feared (lie
woman when she realized how she bad
been duped, llis action was protec
tive, nnd his movement toward the
door equally as significant.
“Duane!” cried Mrs. Bland.
It was no time to talk. Duane edged
on, keeping Jennie behind him. At
that moment there was a pounding of
Iron-shod hoofs out in the lane. Kate
Bland hounded to the door. When she
turned hack her amazement was
changing to realization.
“Where ’re you taking Jen?" she
cried, her voice like n man’s.
“Hot out of my way,” replied Duane.
His look perhaps, without speech, was
enough for tier. In an Instant she was
transformed into a fury.
“You hound! All the time you-were
fooling me! You made love to me!
"Kate, Let Go!"
You’ll never leave here alive. Give me
that girl! Let me—get at her! She'll
never win any more men in this vamp.'’
“Help! help! help!” she shrieked, in
a voice that must have penetrated to
the remotest cabin in the valley.
Suddenly she snatched a rifle off the
wall and backed away, her strong
hands fumbling at the lever. And she
Jerked it down, throwing a shell into
the chamber and cocking the weapon,
1 >uane leaped upon her. He struck up ,
the rifle us It went off, the powder
burning his face.
“Jennie, run out! Get on a horse!”
he said.
Jennie flashed out or the door.
With an iron grasp Duane held to
the rifle-barrel. He had grasped it
with his left hand, and he gave such
a pull that he swung the crazed" wo
man off the floor. Hut he could not
loose her grip. She was us strong as
he.
“Kate! Let go!”
He tried to intimidate her. She did
not see his gun thrust In her face, or
reason had given way to such an .
I
('Xtont to passion That she did not care.
Sho cursed. Her husband lmd ti“<‘d
'he same curses, ant} from her lips
• ho.v seemed ’strange, unscxed. moro
deadly. Liken tigress she fought him;
her face no longer resembled a wo
man's.
He lienrd a cry front outside—-a
man's cry, hoarse and alarming.
It made him think of loss of time.
This demon of a woman might yet
ldoek his plan.
“Let go!” lie whispered, and felt
his lips stiff. In the grimness of that
instant lie relaxed his hold on the
rifle-harrel.
With sudden, redoubled, irresistible
strength she wrenched tlie rifle down
and discharged it. Duane felt a blow
—a shook—a burning agony tearing
through his breast. Then in a frenzy
he jerked so powerfully upon tile rifle
that lie throw the woman against the
wall. She fell and seemed stunned.
Duane leaped hack, whirled, flew
out of ttie door on the porch. The
sharp cracking of a gun halted him.
lie saw Jennie holding to the bridle
of his bay horse. Euchre was astride
the other, and lie lmd a Colt leveled,
.•ml he w as firing down tlie lane. Then
came a single shot, heavier, and
Kuehre’s ceased. lie fell from the
horse.
A swift glance back showed to Duane
a man coming down the lane. Chess
Alloway! His gun was smoking. He
broke into a run. Then in an instant
he saw Duane, and tried to check his
pace as lie swung up his arm. Hut
that slight pause was fatal. Duane
shot, and Alloway was falling when ills
gun went off. His bullet whistled
close to Duane and thudded into the
cabin.
Duane bounded down to the horses.
Jennie wus trying to hold the plunging
buy. Euchre .lay flat on his hack,
dead, a bullet-hole in his shirt, his
face set hard, and his hands twisted
round gun and bridle.
“Jennie, you’ve nerve, nil right!”
cried Duane, -as he dragged down the
horse she was holding. “Dp with you
now ! There ! Never mind—long
stirrups! Hang on somehow!”
lie caught bis bridle out of Euchre’s
clutching grip and leaped astride. The
frightened horses jumped into a run
and thundered down the lane into the
road. Dunne saw men running from
cabins. He heard shouts. Rut there
were no shots fired. Jennie seemed
able to stay on her horse, but without
stirrups she was thrown about so much
that Duane rode closer and reached
out to grasp her arm.
Thus they rode through the valley
to the trail that led up over the steep
and broken Win Rock. As they her
gan to climb Dunne looked back. No
pursuers were in sight.
"Jennie, we’re going to get away!”
he cried, exultation for her in his
voice.
Sin1 was gazing horror stricken at
his breast, as in turning to look hack
he faced her.
"Oh, Duane, your shirt’s all bloody!"
she faltered, pointing with trembling
fingers.
With her words Duane became
aware of two things the hand he In
stinctively placed to his breast still
held his gun. and he had been shot
through the breast far enough down
to give him grave apprehension of his
life.
They did not stop climbing while
Duane tore a scarf and made com
presses. which he bound tightly over
bis wounds. The fresh horses made
fast time up Hie rough trail. From
open places Duane looked down. When
they surmounted the steep ascent and
stood on top of the Rim Rock, with
no signs of pursuit down in the valley,
and with the wild broken fastness
before them. Duane turned to the girl
and assured her that they now had
every chance to escape.
"Rut—your—wound!” she faltered,
with dark, troubled eyes, "I see—the
blood—dripping from your back!”
"Jennie, I’ll take a lot of killing,”
be said.
Then he became silent and attended
to the uneven trail, lie was aware
presently that hi* had not come Into
Bland’s camp by this route. Rut that
did not matter; any trail lending out
beyond the Rim Rock was safe enough.
What he wanted was to get far away
into some wild retreat where he could
bide till he recovered from his wound.
So he turned off on a trail that ap
iveared seldom traveled.
Soon after this move be became con
scious of a further thickening of his
senses. He felt able to hold on to his
saddle for a while longer, hut be was
falling. Then he thought he ought to
advise Jennie, so in case she was left
alone slu? would have some idea of
what to do.
"Jennie, I'll give out soon,” he said.
"N'o—T don't mean -what you think.
But I'll drop soon. My strength's go
in&. If L die- ;ou rid*; hil'-'H. to the
main trail. Hide and rest by day.
Ride at nijrlit. That trail goes to
water. I believe you could get across
the Nueces, where some rancher will
fake yon in."
Duane could not get the meaning of
her incoherent reply. He rode on. and
soon he could not see the trail or hear
his horse. lie did not know whether
they traveled a mile or many times
that far. Rut he was conscious when
the horse stopped, and had a vague
sense of falling and feeling Jennie’s
arms before all became dark to him.
When consciousness returned he
found himself lying in a little hut of
j mesquite branches. It was well built
and evidently some years old. Dunne
I felt weak and had no desire to move.
I Where was lie. anyway? A strange.
! intangible sense of time, distance, of
| something far behind weighed upon
him. He thought he heard a step and
listened, but he felt tired, and present
ly his eyes dosed and he fell into u
doge.
Awakening front this, he saw Jennie
sitting beside him. In some way she
seemed to have changed. When he
spoke she gave a start and turned
eagerly to him. %
“1 >uane !” she cried.
‘‘Hello. How ’re you, Jennie, and
how am l?" lie said, finding it a little
difficult to talk.
“Oil, I'm . all right,” she replied.
“And you've come to—your wound’s
healed; but you’ve been sick. Fever,
I guess. 1 did all I could.”
Duane saw now that tire difference
in her was a whiteness and tightness
“Fever? How Long Have We Been
Here?"
of skin, n hollowness of eye, a look
of strain.
“Fever? How long have we been
here?" lie asked. I
She took some pebbles from the
erow11 of Ills sombrero uml counted
t hem.
“Mile. Mne days,” she answered.
"Nine days!” he exclaimed, incredu
lously. But another look at her as
sured him that she meant what she
said.
“Bland's men didn’t come along
here?”
“No.”
“Have you slept any?"
"A little. Lately 1 couldn’t keep
awake.” *
“1 should think not. You’ve had a
time of it silting here day and night
nursing me. watching for ttie outlaws.
Feme, toll me all about it.”
“There’s nothing much to tell,” she
replied, simply. “We must have rffl
detl forty miles that day we got awa.v.
You hied all the time. Toward even
ing you lay on your horse’s neck.
When we came to this place you fell
out of the saddle. I drugged you in
here nnd slopped your bleeding. I
though you'd die that night. But in
the morning 1 had a little hope. 1
had forgotten the horses. But luckily 1
they didn't stray far. 1 caught them
and kept them down in the gorge. I
When your wounds closed and you he- i
gait to breathe stronger I thought you’d
get well quick. It was fever that put
you hack. You raved a lot, and thaf
worried me, because I couldn’t stop
you. Anybody trailing ns could have
heard you a good ways. I don’t know
whether I was scared most then or !
when you were quiet, and it was so i
dark ami lonely an<. still all around, ■
livery day 1 put a stone in your hat.” ,
“Jennie, you saved my life,” said \
Dunne.
I don t know. Maybe. T did all I
knew how to do," she replied. "You
saved mine—more than nj.v life.”
Their eyes met In a Ions gaze, and
then their hands in a close clasp.
“Jennie, we’re going to net away.”
be said, with gladness. “I'll be well
in a few days. You don’t know how
strong I am. We’ll hide by day and
travel by night. 1 can get you across
the river.”
"And then?" she asked.
"We’ll find some honest rancher,”
“And then?” she persisted.
“Why,” he began, slowly, “that’s ns
far as my thoughts ever got. It was
pretty hard, I tell you, to assure my
self so much. It means your safety.
You’ll tell your story. You’ll be sent
to some village or town and taken care
of until a relative or friend Is notified.”
“And you?” she inquired in a strange
voice.
lhianc kept silence.
“What will you do?" she went on.
“Jennie, 1 II go back to the brakes.
1 daren’t show my face among re
spectable people. IjM an ouUaw.”_
“You won't go back oniony those
torrihle nion? You. witli your gentle
ness and sweetness—all that's good
about you? oh, Duane, don't—don’t
R<>!”
“I can't po back to the outlaws, at
least not Itland's band. No. I'll po
alone. I'll lone-wolf it. as they say
on the border. Never mind about me,
Jennie.”
CHAPTER X.
Tn three days Duane was able with
great difficulty to mount bis horse.
During daylight, by short relays, he
and Jennie rode hack to the main
trail, where they hid again till he had
rested. Then in the dark they rode
out of the canyons and gullies of the
Hint Hock, and early in the morning
I halted at the first water to camp.
From that point they travel.-d after
i nightfall and went into hiding dining
the day. Once across the Nueces
j River. Duane was assured of safety
for her and great danger for himself.
At lest, far ahead over a barren mcs
quite-dottod stretch of dusty ground,
lie espied a patch of green and a little
fiat, red ranch-house, lie headed Ids
horse for it and turned a face lie tried
to make cheerful for Jennie’s sake.
She seemed both happy and sorry.
When near at hand lie saw that the
rancher was a thrifty farmer. And
thrift spoke for honesty. There were
fields of alfalfa, fruit-trees, corrals,
windmill pumps, irrigation-ditches, ull
surrounding a neat little adobe house.
Some children were playing in the
yard. The way they ran at the sight
of Duane hinted to both the loneliness
and the fear of their isolated lives.
Duane saw a woman come to the door,
Ihon a man. The latter looked keenly,
then stepped outside. He was a sandy
haired, freckled Texan.
“Howdy, stranger,” lie called, as
Duane halted. ‘‘Get down, you an'
your woman. Say. now, air you sick
or shot or what? Let me—”
Dunne, reeling in his saddle, bent
searching eyes upon the rancher, lie
thought lie saw good will, kindness,
honesty, lie risked all on .thnt one
sharp glance. Then he almost plunged
from the saddle.
The rancher caught him, helped him
to a bench.
“Martha, come out here!” he called.
“This man’s sick. No; lie's shot, or 1
don’t know blood-stains.”
Jennie had slipped off her horse and
to Duane’s side. Duane appeared
about to faint.
•‘Air you his wife?” asked the
rancher.
“No. I'm only a girl he saved from
outlaws. Oh. he’s so pale! Duane,
I Plane!”
“Duck Dunne!" exclaimed the ranch
er, excitedly. “The man who killed
Bland an* Alloway? Say, 1 owe him
I a good turn, ap’ ril pay It, young
! woman.”
The rancher’s wife came out, and
with a manner at once kind and prac
tical essayed to make Duane drink
from a flask. He was not so far gone
that he could not recognize its con- i
tents, which he refused, and weakly i
asked for water. When that was given 1
him he found his voice.
“Yes, I'm Duane. I’ve only over- j
done myself—just all in. The wounds
I got at Bland’s are healing. Will you
take this girl In—hide her awhile till ■
the excitement’s over among the out
laws ?”
“I shore will,” replied the Texan.
“Young man you ain't in any shape
to travel. I'll take you in along with
the girl, an’ hide both of you till you
get well.”
Duane’s last fading sensations of
that hard day were the strange feel
of a bed, a relief at the removal of his
heavy boots, and of Jennie’s soft, cool j
hands on his hot face.
♦ * # * * * *
He lay ill for three weeks before he
began to mend, and it was another 1
week then before he could walk out
a little in the dusk of the evenings.
After that his strength returned rapid
ly. And it was only at the end of this
long siege that he recovered his spirits.
During most of his illness he had been
silent, moody.
“Jennie, I'll he riding off soon," lie
said, one evening. “1 can’t impose on
this good man Andrews much longer.
I'll never forget his kindness.' Ills
wife, too—she's been so good to us.
Yes, Jennie, you and I will have to
say good-by very soon.”
“Don’t hurry away.” she replied.
Lately Jennie had appeared strange \
to him. She had changed from the
girl he used to see at Mrs. Bland’s
house. He took her reluctance to say
good-by as another indication of her
regret that he must go back to the
brakes. Yet somehow it made him
observe her more closely.
“It's likely that we won't see each
other again,” he said. “That's strange
to think of. We’ve been through some
hard days, and I seem to have known
you a long time."
Jennie appeared sliy, almost sad, so
Duane change the subject to soim*
tliing less personal.
*******
Andrews returned one’ evening from
n several days’ trip to Huntsville.
“Duane, everybody’s talkin' about
how you cleaned up the Bland outfit.”
he said, important and nil full of news.
“It’s some exaggerated, accordin’ to
what you told me; but you've shore
made friends on tlds side of the
Nueces. 1 reckon there ain't a town
where you wouldnlt find people to
welcome you."
"Dili you hear of any outlaws hunt
ing me?” asked Duane.
“Nobody from Bland’s outfit is hunt
in’ you, thet’s shore,” replied Andrew s.
“Fisher said there never was a boss
straddled to go on vour trail. Nobody
had any use for Bland. Apyhow, bis
men would ho afraid to trail you. An’
you could go right in to Huntsville,
v here you'd be some popular. Reckon
you’d be safe, too, except where some
of them fool saloon loafers or bad
eowpnnehers would try to shoot yon
for the glory in it. Them kind of men
will bob up everywhere you go,
Duane.”
“I'll be able to ride and take enre of
myself in a day or two,” went on
Duane. “Then I'll go—I’d like to talk
to you about Jennie."
“She’s welcome to a home here with
us.”
“Thank you, Andrews. Vou're a
kind man. Rut I 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 betrer
go north an’ strike for Shelbyvtile.
i’ll tell Jennie the names of men who’ll
help her. You needn't ride Info town
at all.”
At sunset two days later Duane and
Jennie mounted their horses and said
good-by to the rancher and liis wife.
Andrews would not listen to Duane's
thanks.
“I tell you I'm beholden to you yet,”
he declared.
“Well, what can I do for you?"
asked Duane, “i may come along Imre
again some day.”
“Get down an' come in, then, or
you're no friend of mine. An' good
luck to you both 1”
Duane and Jennie trotted away into
Ihe gathering twilight. The sky was
overcast with heavy clouds; there was
no air moving; the heat and oppres
sion threatened storm. By end by
Duane could not see a rod in front of
hinK though his horse had no difficulty
in keeiiing to the road. To ids an
noyance, however, a fine, misty rain
set in. Jennie was not well dressed
for wet weather; and, for ttiat matter,
neilher was he. Ilis coat, which in
that dry warm climate he seldom
needed, was tir'd behind his saddle,
and he put it on Jennie. Ttie night
passed quickly despite the discomfort,
and soon a gray, dismal, rainy duwn
greeted the travelers.
Jennie insisted that he find some
shelter where a fire could be built to
dry his clothes. He was not in a fit
condition to risk catching cold. In
fact, Duane’s teeth were chattering.
To find a shelter In thnt barren waste
seemed a futile task. Quite unex
pectedly, however, they happened upon
a deserted adobe cabin situated a little
off the road. Not only did it prove
to have a dry interior, but also there
was firewood. Water was available in
pools everywhere; however, there was
no grass for the horses.
A pond fire nnd licit food nnd drink
changed the aspect of their condition
as far as comfort went.
I Jennie slept, while Duane watched.
[ Tlie 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 ipiicf. n little stern in sleep,
and her long, dark lashes lying on her
cheek, lie seemed to see her fragility,
her prettiness, her femininity ns never
before. Hut for him she might at
that very moment have been a broken,
ruiued girl lying back in that cabin of
the islands. The fact, gave him a feel
ing of his importance in this shifting
of her destiny. She was unharmed,
still young; she would forget and he
happy; she would live to he a good
wife nnd mother. Somehow the
thought swelled his heart. His net,
dcath-dVuling as it had been, was a
Jennie Slept While Duane Watched.
noble one, and helped 1dm to hold on
to his drifting hopes. Hardly ouee j
since Jennie had entered Into his
thought had those ghosts returned to
torment him. |
To-morrow she would he gone among
good, kind people with a possibility of
finding her relatives. lie thanked
God for that; nevertheless, he felt a
pang.
About the middle of the afternoon
Jennie awoke. They cooked a meal
and afterward, sat beside the little
lire. Sometimes when her eyes were
on him she did not seem to he think
ing of her freedom, of tier future.
‘"Tliis time to-morrow you'll be In
Shelbyvllle," he said.
“Where will you be?" she asked,
quickly.
"Mr? Oh, I’ll he making tracks for
some lonesome place, ' he replied.
The gild shuddered. ___ j
“I've heen brought tip in Texas. I
remember what a hard lot the men of
my family had. But poor as they
were, they had a roof over their heads,
n heartli with a fire, a warm bed—
somebody to love them. And yon,
I>utine—oh, my God! What must your
life be? Tou must ride and hide and
watch eternally.”
She ended with a sob and dropped
her head on her knees. Duane was
amazed, deeply touched.
“My girl, thank you for that thought
o' me,” he said, with a tremor in his
voice. “You don’t know how much
that means to me.”
She raised her face, and it was tear
stained, eloquent, beautiful.
“I’ve heard tell—the best of men
go to the bad out there. Tou won’t.
Promise me you won’t. I never—
knew any man—like you. I—I—we
may never see each other again—afier
to-day. ni never forget you. I’ll pray
for yon. 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
Bland’s—before you eame. I was only
a poor weak girl. But if I could hope
—so ran you. Stay away from men.
I! ’ a lone wolf. Fight for your life.
Stick out your exile—and tuayhe—
some day—”
Then she lost her voice. Duntm
clasped her limit! and with feeling as
deep as hers promised to remember
her words. In her despair for him she
had spoken wisdom--pointed out the
only Mnitrse.
Duane’s vigilance, momentarily
broken by emotion, bad no sooner re
asserted itself than he discovered the
buy horse, the one Jennie rode, had
broken bis baiter and gone off. The
soft wet earth had deadened the sound
of his hoofs. His tracks were plain
In the mud.
Duane did not want to leave Jennie
alone in the cabin so near the road.
So he put her on his horse and bade
her follow. The ruin had ceased for
the time being, though evidently the
storm was not yet over. The tracks
led up a wash to a wide flat where
raesqulte, prickly pear, and thorn-bush
grew so thickly that Jennie could ubt
ride into it. 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 thicket
and go in alone.
As lie went In n sound startled him,
Wns it the breaking of a branch he
had stepped on or thrust aside? He
heard the impatient pound of his
horse’s hoofs. Then all was quiet.
Still he listened, not wholly satisfied.
He was never satisfied in regard to
safety; he knew too well that there
never could he safety for him in this
country. Certain he was now Unit
some kind of danger threatened.
Suddenly there came an unmlsfak
able»tliump of horses' hoofs off some*
' where to the fore. Then a scream rent
the air. It ended abruptly. Duane
leaped forward, tore his way through
the thorny brake. He heard .Icuule
cry again—an appealing call quickly
hushed. It seemed more to his right,
and he plunged that way. He hurst
Into a glade where a smoldering fire
and ground covered with footprints
and tracks showed that campers had
lately been. Hushing across this, he
broke bis passage out to the open.
Hut be was too late. His horse had
disappeared. Jennie was gone. There
were no riders in sight. There was n<r
sound. There was a heavy trail of
horses going north. Jennie hart been
carried off—probably by outlaws.
Dunne realized that pursuit was out
of the question—that Jennie was lost.
(Continued Next VVeeU.j
Some Marvelous Birds.
From "seeing" things of seeming su
pernatural origin on the western tvtir
front—such, for Instance, ns “armed
angels”—the Briton has come to hear
ing unusual sounds at home, says the
Atlantic Constitution.
Thus one, C. O. Fart rum, informs
the London Times "that he 1ms heard
the major triad sung ns an arpeggio
by a blackbirdwhile still another
citizen has "heard a blackbird sing
ing two triplets In succession, begin
ning with the fifth and going down.”
Hut, most wonderful of all. a thrush
has been heard to “distinctly whistle
the tune of •'rite Campbells Are Com
ing.' ”
War recruiting has been going for
ward with a rush for some lime past
—probably not due to these airy
omens of the patriotic thrush ; hut If
the call for more men becomes in
sistent it might he n good idea to get
the intelligent thrush to sing for the
"slackers.”
They have not yet discovered ;i hlrdj
that sings "<3nd Save the King.’ Btitj
there is hope that one may he fonndj
In a real emergency!
"Black Death” Bubonic Plague? ,
Some historian-physicians have sat
isfied themselves, and many other men
who have followed their line of argu
ment, that the "black death,” which
swept England and other countries,
was what the world now knows to be
bubonic plague, a disease that has
been traced to rats and the fleas that
infest rats. It was only a few years
ago that the great discovery was made
that there is ussociution between bu
bonic plague, rats and rat fleas. It
has been shown tbyt the commonest
rat fleas In all tropical ami subtropical
countries infest man, and if they
should have fed upon a plague.iufesteif
rat and subsequently bite man. their
bites communicate bubonic plague.—
Washington Star.
i