OtelONEr'»
5TAD DANGffi
A ROMANCE OF TrtE BORDER^
PfrZATsL GREY
AUTHOR OF
'THE LIGHT OF WESTERN
STARS"
"RIDERS OF THE PURPLE
SAGE", ETC.
COPYRIGHT, IY HARP(R AND (ROTHIRi
SYNOPSIS.
CHAPTER I—In Wellstnn. Texas. It
becomes with Buck Icy Duane a case rf
ft«ht or run from Cal Bain. Duane kills
his man and becomes an outlaw.
CHAPTER II—He meets Luke titev
ens, an outlaw.
CHAPTER III—Stevens pees Into the
town of Mercer to buy supplies and is
shot by a rancher. Duane buries hi-m.
CHAPTER IV—Duane goes to Bland's
outlaw stronghold in the Rim Rock and
c.tier shooting Bosomer, who quarrels
with him over Stevens' death, decides
to stay there. Euehre takes Duane foi
a partner and tells him about Bland
the outlaw chief, tnd his band
Lnter he went outdoors to the cooler
shade of the cottonwoods. I'ronf ibis
point he could see n pood deal of the
valley. Under different circumstances
Duane felt that he would have en
joyed such a beautiful spot. He saw
a pood many Mexicans, who, of course,
were hand and glove with Itland.
Also he saw enormous flat-bouts, crude
of structure, moored along the hanks
of the river. The Kin (irniide rolled
'away between high hltiffs. A cable,
sapping deep In the middle, was
stretched over the wide yellow stream,
ami an old scow, evidently used ns a
ferry, Iny anchored on the far shore.
The valley was nil ideal retreat fur j
an outlaw hand operating on a big
scale. Pursuit scarcely need he feared
over the broken trails of the Kim
Rock. And the open end of the valley j
could be defended against almost any
number of men coming down iliej
river.
Duane must have idled considerable
time up nu the hill, for when he re
turned to the shack Euchre was
busily engaged around the cnnip-flre.
“Wal, glad to see you ain't so pale
about the gills as you uhs." he said,
by the way of greeting, “l’itch in an'
we'll soon have grub ready. There's
shore one consolin’ fact round this
here camp.”
“What’s that?" asked Duane.
“Plenty of good juicy beef to cat.
An’ It doesn’t cost a short hit."
“But It costs hard rides and trouble,
bad conscience, and life, too, doesn't
It?"
"I ain't shore about the bad con
science. Mine never bothered me none.
An' as for life, why, thet's cheap in
Texas.”
“Who is Bland?" asked Duane, j
quickly changing the subject. “What
do you know about him?"
“We don't know who he is or where
he halls froifr," replied Euchre. “Thet's
always been somethin' to interest the
gang. He must have been a young
man when he struck Texas. Now he’s
middle-aged, f remember how years
ago he was soft-spoken an’ not rough
in talk or get like he Is now. Bland
ain’t likely his right name. He knows
a lot. lie can doctor you, an’ lie’s
shore a koowin’ feller with "tools,
lie's the kind the! rules men. Outlaws
are always ridin’ in here to join his
gang, nil’ if it hadn't been fer the
gamblin’ an' gunplay he'd have a
thousand men around him.”
“How many in his gang now?"
“I reckon there's short of a hundred
now. The number varies. Then Bland
has several small rain pa up an’ down
the river. Also he has men hack on
the cattle ranges."
“How does he control such a big
force?” asked Duane. “Especially
when Ids band's composed of bad men.
l ake Stevens said he had no use for
Bland. And I heard once somewhere
that Bland was a devil.”
"Tliot's It. Ilf is a devil. He's ns
hard ns fUnt. violent In temper, never
made any friends except his ripht
luind men, Dnve Hupp mu' Chess Allo
\yuy. Bland 'll shoot at a wink. He’s
killed a lot of fellers, an’ some for
nothin’. * l’lie reason thet outlaws
puttier round him an’ stick is because
lie’s a safe refuge, an’ then he’s well
heeled. Bland is rich. They say he
lias a hundred thousand pesos hid
somewhere, an’ lots of gold. But lie’s
free with money. He gumbles when
he’s not off with a shipment of cattle.
He throws money around. An' the
fact is there’s always plenty of, money
where he Is. Thet’s what holds the
gimp. Dirty. bloody money!”
‘‘It's a wonder he hasn't been killed.
All these years on the border!” ex
claimed Duane.
“Wal," replied Euchre, dryly, “he’s j
been quicker on the draw than the
other fellers who hankered to kill him,
thet’s all.”
Euchre’s reply rather chilled
Duane's Interest for the moment. Such
remarks always made his mind resolve
round facts pertaining to hlf.iself.
"Speakin’ of this here swift wrist
gniiie," went on Euchre, “there's been
considerable talk in camp about your
throwin’ of a pun. I heard Bland say
tills afternoon—an' he said it serious
like un' speculative—thet he'd UCV’C.
seen your equal. All the fellers who
seen you meet Bosomer had somethin’
to say. An' they all slmt up when
Bland told who an’ what your dad
was. 'Pears to mo I onoe soon your
dad In a gun-scrape. over at Snntonc,
years ago. Wul. I put toy oar in to
day among tho fellers, an' T savs:
‘What ails you hieood gouts? i'id
young Hnane luidge an inch when Bo
cnfhe roarin' out. blood in his oye?
Wasn't Ik' cool an' quiet, steady of
lips, an' weren't his eyes road in' Bo’s
mind? Alt' diet lightnin' draw—can’t
yon all see tliot's a family gift?"
Kuchro's narrow eyes twinkled, and
ho gave the (lough ho was rolling a
slap with his flour-whitonod hand.
Manifestly ho had proclaimod himself
a champion and part tier of 1 mane's,
with all the pride an old man oould
feel in a young one whom he admired.
“Wul.” he resumed, presently,
“Ihot's your introduction to the border,
Buck. An' your card was a high
trump. You'll he let severely alone liy
real gun-fighters an’ men like Bland,
Alloway. Rngg. an' the Ihimi>s of the
other gangs. Afror all, these real men
are men. you know an’ onless you
cross them they're no more likely to
interfere with you than you are with
them. /
“The only feller who’s goitt’ to put
a close eye on you is Benson. lie runs
the store an' sells drinks. 'Ilie gang
calls him Jaekrahhit Benson, because
he’s always got bis eye peeled an’
his ears cocked.
“Bland's not here tonight. He left
to-day on one of his trips, takin' Allo
way an' some others. But his other
man. Itugg, lie's here. Itugg's the
little how-legged mar. with half of his
face shot off. - lie's one-eyed. But he
eau shore see out of the one lie’s got.
Alt’ there’s Hardin. You know him?
He’s got an outlaw gang as big ns
Bland’s."
Kuril re wont on railing Dunne’s at
tention to other men of the bund. Any
one of them would have been a mark
ed man in a respectable crowd. Here
each took his-place with more or less
distinct ion. according to the record of
his past wild prowess aftd his present
Anyone of Them Would Have Been a
Marked Man.
possibilities. Dunne, realizing that he
was tolerated there, received in care
less spirit by this terrible class of
outcasts, experienced a feeling of re
vulsion that amounted almost to hor
ror. Was Ids being there not an ugly
dream? What had he in common with
such ruffians? Then in a flash of
memory came the painful proof—he
was a criminal in sight of Texas law;
he, too, was an outcast.
CHAPTER VI.
Next morning Dunne found that a
moody and despondent spell had fas
tened on him, Wishing to he alone,
he went out and walked a trail leading
round the river bluff. lie thought and
thought. After a while he made out
that the trouble with him probably
was that he could not resign himself
to his fate. Tie cared vastly more, he
discovered, for what ho considered
honor and integrity than he did for
life. He saw that it was had for him
to he alone. Rut. it appeared.Jonelv
months Vnd perhaps years Inevitably
must he his.
Another thing puzzled him. In the
bright light of day he could not recall
the .state of mind that was his at
twilight or dusk or In the dark night,
lly day these visitations became to
hat they really were phantoms
of his conscience. He could dismiss
the thought of them then. Me could
scarcely"remember or believe thut t Ills
strange feat of fancy or Imagination
bad troubled him, made him sleepless
and sick. *
At length he determined to create
interest in ali that he came across
and so forget himself ns much as pos
sible. He had an opportunity now to
see just what the outlaw's life really
was. He meant to force himself to
be curious, sympathetic, clear-sighted.
And he would stay there in the valley
until its possibilities had been ex
hausted or until circumstances sent
him out upon his uncertain way.
When he returned to the shack
Euchre was cooking dinner.
“Say, Buck, I’ve news for you," he
said; and ids tone conveyed either
pride in his possession of such news
or pride in Duane. “Feller named
Bradley rode in this mornin'. He’s
heard some about you. Told about
the ace of spades they put over the
bullet-holes in thet cowpuncher Bain
you plugged. Then there was a ranch
er shot at a water-hole twenty miles
south of Wellston. Beckon you didn’t
do it?’’
“No, 1 certainly did not,” replied
Duane.
“Wal, you get the blame. It ain’t
nothing for* a feller to be saddled with
gun plays lie never made. An’. Buck,
if you ever get famous, a? seems like
ly. you'll he blamed for many a crime.’
The border ’ll make an outlaw an'
murderer out of you, Wal, thet’s
enough of thet. I've more news.
You’re goin’ to he popular.”
“Popular? What do you mean?”
"I met Bland's wife this mornin’
She seen you the other day when you
rode in. She shore wants to meet you,
an' so do some of the other women
in camp. .They always want to meet
the new fellers who've just come in.
It's lonesome for women here, an' they
like to hear news from the towns."
“Well. Euchre, I don’t want to be
Impolite, hut I’d rather not meet any
women,” rejoined Duane.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t. Don't
blame you much. Women are hell. 1
was hopin’, though, you might talk a
little to thet poor lonesome kid.”
“What kid?” Inquired Duane, In stir
prise. *
“Didn't I tell you about Jennie—the
girl Bland's holdin’ here?”
“No. Tell me now,” replied Duane,
abruptly.
“Wal, I got it this way. Mebbe It’s
straight, an’ mebbe it ain't. Some
years ago Beuson made a trip over the
river to buy mescal an’ other drinks.
An* he run across a gang of greasers
with some gringo prisoners. I don’t
know, but I reckon there was some
barterin’, perhaps murderin’. Any
way, Benson fetched the girl back.
She was starved an’ scared half to
death. She hadn’t been harmed. 1
reckon she was then about fourteen
years old. Bland seen the kid right
off and took her—bought her from
Benson. You can gamble Bland didn’t
do thet from notions of chivalry.
Kate Bland's been hard on Jennie, but
she's kept Bland an the other men
from treating the kid shameful. Late
Jennie has grown into an all-fired
pretty girl, an' Kate is powerful jeal
ous of her. 1 can see hell brewin’
over there in Bland's cabin. Tiiet's,
why I wish you’d come over with me.
You’d got to see Jennie, an’ mebbe:
you could help her. I had a baby girl
once, an’ if she’d lived she’d be ns big
ns Jennie now, an’ I wouldn’t want her
here in Bland's camp.”
“I'll go. Euchre. Take me over," re
plied Duane. lie felt Euchre’s eyes
upon him. The old outlaw, however,
had no more to say.
In the afternoon Euchre set off with j
Duane, and soon they readied Bland’s
cabin. Duane remembered it as the
one where he had seen the pretty wo
man watching him ride by. Through
the open door Duane caught a glimpse
Of bright Mexican blankets and rugs.
Euchre knocked upon the side of the
door.
“Is that you, Euchre?" asked a girl s
voice, low,'''hesitatingly. Tlie t< no of
it, rather deep and with a note of fear,
struck Puii.no.
“•Yei It’s me, Jennie. Where's, Mrs.
Bland?" answered Euelire.
“Sin*-went over to Pager's. There’s
somebody sick,” replied the girl.
Euelire turned and whispered some
thing about •Tck. The snap of the
outlaw's eyes was added significance
to Dunne.
“Jennie, come out or let us coine in.
Here's the young man I was fellin’ you
about,” Euchre said. “Come out,
Jennie, an’ mebbe he'll—”
Euchre did not complete his sen
tence. But what he said was sufficient
to bring tlie girl quickly. She ap
peared in the doorway with downcast
eyes and a stain of red in her white
cheek. She had a pretty, sad face
and bright' itair.
"Don’t be bashful. Jennie,” said
Euchre. “You an' Duane have a
chance to talk a little. Now I’ll go
fetch Mrs. Bland, but I won’t be hur
ryin’.”
With that Euchre went away,
through tlie cottonwoods.
“I’m glad to meet you, Miss—Miss
Jennie," said Duane. ‘Euelire didn’t
mention your last name, lie disked
me to come over to—”
Duane’s atfem.pt at pleasantry halted
short; when Jennie lifted her lashes
to look at him. Some .kind of a shock
went through Duane. Her gray eyes i
were beautiful, but it hark not been
beauty that cut short liis speech. He
seemed to see a tritele struggle be
tween hope and doubt' that shone in
her piercing gaze. She kept looking,
sml Duane could not break the silence.
It was no ordinary moment.
“What did- you come here for?" she
usked. at last.
“Well Euchre thought—he wanted
me to talk to you, cheer you up a hit,”
replied DhauersffmFtnrutmwTy. The
earnest eyes embarrassed him.
“Eueh«e's good. He’s (he only
person in tliis awful place who’s been
good to me. But he’s afrnid of Rland.
He said you were different. Who are
you ?”
IMinne told her.
“You’re not a robber or rustler or
murderer or some bad man come here
to hide?’’
"No, I’m not,” replied Duane, trying
to smile. “I’m on the dodge. You
know what that means. I got in a
sb mting-scrap at home and had to
run off. When it blows over I hope
to go back.”
“Oh. I know ,what these outlaws
are. Yes, you’re different.” She kept
the strained gaze upon him, t ut hope
was kindling, and the hard lines of
her youthful face were softening.
Something sweet and warm stirred
deep in Duane as tie realized the tin
“Look at Me—Straight in the Eye.”
fortunate girl was experiencing a liirth
of trust in him. Then tlie glow begun
to fa le; doubt once more assailed her.
“It can't he. You're only—after me,
too, like Bland—like all of them.”
Duane’s long arms went out and his
hands clasped her shoulders. He
shook her.
“Look at me—straight in the eye.
There are decent men. Haven’t you
a father—a brother?”
“They’re dead—killed by raiders.
We lived in Dimmit County. 1 was
carried away,” Jennie replied, hurried
' ly. She put up an appealing hand t(
i him. “Forgive me. I believe—1 know
you’re good. It was only—I live so
much in fear—I’m half crazy—I've al
most forgotten what good men tire like.
Mister Duane, you'll help me?”
“Yes, Jennie, I will. Tell me how.
What must I do? Have you any plan?”
“< >!i no. But take me away."
“I’ll try,” said Duane, simply. “That
won’t be easy, though. Are you watched
—kept prisoner?”
“No. I could run off lots of times.
But I was afraid. I'd only have fallen
into worse hands. Eucl.re has told
me that. Mrs. Bland beats me, half
starves me, but she has kept me from
her husband and those other dogs.
She’s been as good as that, and Ftti
grateful. Slit' hasn’t done it for love
of me, though. She always hated tne.
And lately she’s growing jealous. I
hear her fighting with Bland about me.
Then I’ve heard Chess Alloway trj
to persuade Bland to give me to him.
Duane, * you must be quick if you’d
save me.”
"I realize that,” replied ho, thought
fully. “I think iuy difficulty will ho to
fool Mrs. Bland. If sho suspected me
she'd have the whole gang of outlaws
on me at once.”
“She would that. You've got to be
careful—and quick.”
“What kind of a woman is she?”
inquired Duane.
“She’s—she’s brazen. I’ve heard her
with her lovers. They get drunk
sometimes when Bland’s away. She’s
got a terrible temper. She’s vain.
She likes flattery. Oh, you could fool
her easy enough if you'd lower your
self to—to—”
“To-make love to her?" Interrupted
Duane.
Jennie bravely turned shamed eyes
to meet his.
“My girl. I’d do worse than that to
get you away from here,” hi' said,
bluntly.
“But—Duane," she faltered, and
again she put out the appealing hand.
“Bland will kill you.”
Duane made r.o reply to this. He
was trying to still a rising strange
tumult ir, his breast. The old emotion
—the rush of the Instinct to kill! He
turned cold all over.
“Chess Alioway will kill you if
l’.land doesn't,” went < n Jennie, with
her tragic eyes on Dunne's.
“Maybe he will,” replied Duane, ft
was difficult for him to force n smile.
But he achieved one.
“Oh. better take me off at once." she
said. “Save me without risking so
much—without making love to Mrs.
Bland!”
“Surely, if I can. There! I see
Euchre coming with a woman."
“That’s her. Oh. she mustn’t see
nie with you.”
“Walt — a Vnoment.” whispered
Duane, us Jennie slipped indoors.
“We’ve settled it. Ib n’t forget. I’ll
find some way to get word to you, per
haps through Euchre. Mearns Idle keep
ap your courage. Remember I'll save
you somehow. We’ll try strategy first. I
Vi’haTever you see or" hear me 3o,
don't think less of me—”
Jennie cheeked Mm with a gesture
Ktnl a wonderful gray flash of eyes.
“I’ll bless you with every drop of
Wood iu' my heart," she whispered,
passionately.
It was only as she turned away into
th.e room that Duane saw she was
lame and that she wore Mexican
sandals over bare feet.
He sat down upon a bench on the
porch and directed his attention to
the approaching couple. The trees of
the grove were thick enough for hiir.
to make reasonably sure that Mrs.
Bland had not seen him talking to
Jennie. When the Outlaw's wife drew
near, the situation took on a singular
zest.
Euchre came up on the porch nnd
awkwardly introduced Duane to Mrs.
Bland. She was young, probably not
over twer.ty-flve, and not quite so pre
possessing at close range. Her eyes
were large, rather prominent, nnd
brown in color. Her mouth, too. was
large, with the lips full, and she had
white teeth.
Duane took her proffered hand and
remarked frankly that he was glad to
meet her.
Mrs. Bland appeared pleased; and
her lnuflh, which followed, was loud
and rather musical.
"Mr. Duane—Buck Duane, Fuchre
said, didn’t he?” she asked.
“Buckley,” corrected Duane. "The
nickname's not my choosing.”
“I’m certainly glad to meet you,
Buckley Duane,” she said, as she took
the seat Duane offered her. “Sorry to
have been out. Kid Fuller's lying over
at Deger’s. You know he was shot
last night. He’s got fever to-day.
When Bland’s away I have to nurse nil
these shot-up boys, and it sure takes
my time. Have you been waiting here
alone? Didn’t see that slattern girl
of mine?”
;sne nave mm n snarp giunce. me
woman had an extraordinary play of
fixture, Duane thought, and unless
she was smiling was not pretty at all.
“I’ve been alone,” replied Duane.
“Haven’t seen anybody but a sick
lookipg girl with a bucket. And she
ran when she saw me."
“That was Jen,” said Mrs. Blnnd.
“She’s the kid we keep here, and she
sure hardly pays herkeep. Did Euchre
tell you about he.r?”
“Now that I think of it, he did say
something or other.”
“What did he tell you nbout me?”
bluntly asked Mrs. Bland.
“Wal, Kate,” replied Euchre, speak
ing for himself, “you needn't worry
nine, for I told Buck nothin’ but com
pliments.”
Evidently the outlaw’s wife liked
Euchre, for her keen glance rested
wilh amusement upon him.
“As for Jen, I’ll tell you her story
some day,” went on the woman. “It’s
a common enough story along this
river. Euchre here is a tender-hearted
old fool, and Jen has taken him in."
“Wal, seein’ as you’ve got me fig
gored correct,” replied Euchre, dryly.
“I’ll go in an' talk to Jennie, if I mny."
“Certainly. Go ahead. Jen calls
you her best friend," said Mrs. Bland,
amiably. “You’re always fetching
some Mexican stuff, and that’s why, I
guess.”
When Euchre hnd shuffled into the
house Mrs. Bland turned to Dunne
with curiosity and interest in her gaze.
“Blnnd told me about you.”
“What did he say?" queried Dunne,
in pretended alarm.
“Oh, you needn’t think he's done you
dirt. Bland’s not that kind of a man.
He said: ‘Kate, there’s a young fel
low in camp—rode in here on the
<V>dge. Slickest hand with a gun I’ve
seen for many a day! Magnificent,
ehttp. Bigger than any man in the
valley. Just a great blue-eyed, sun
burned boy!”
“Humph!” exclaimed Duane. Ira
sorry he led you to expect somebody
worth seeing.”
“Hilt I'm not disappointed." she re
turned, archly. “Duane, are you go
ing to Stay long here in camp?”
"Yes, till I run out of money and
have to move. Why?”
Mrs. Bland’s face underwent one of
the singular changes. The smiles and
flushes and glances, all that had been
coquettish about her, had lent her a
certain attractiveness, almost beauty
and youth. But with some powerful
emotion she changed and instantly be
came a woman of discontent, Duane
imagined, of deep, violent nature.
“I’ll tell you, Duane,” she said, earn
estly, “I'm sure glad if yon mean to
bide here awhile. I'm a miserable
woman, Duane. I'm an outlaw’s wife,
and I hate him and the life I have to
lead. I'm sick for somebody to talk
to. I nave no children, thank God!
If I had I’d not stay here. I'm sick
of this hole. I’m lonely—’’
Genuine emotion checked, then halt
ed the hurried speech. She broke
down and cried. Dunne believed and
pitted her.
“I’m sorry for you,” he said.
“1 lon't he sorry for me." she said.
“That only makes me see the—the
difference between you and me. And
don’t pay any attention to what these
outlaws say about me. They’re ignor
ant. They couldn't understand me.
You’ll hear that Bland killed men who
ran after me. But that's a lie."
“Would Bland object if I called on
you occasionally?” inquired Duane.
“No, he wouldn’t. He likes me to
have friends. Ask him yourself when
becomes back. The trouble has been
tlwit two or throe men of his fell In
lov«' with me, and when half drunk
got to fighting. You're not going to do
that.”
“I'm no( going to get half drunk,
that's certain,’’ replied Duane.
I nil Clio lO l lie cou
pon'll, and
versa tion.
Dunne was content to let the matter
rest there nnd hnd little more to say.
Euchre and Mrs. Bland talked and
Joked, while Duane listened.
Once he happened to glance into the
house, and deep In the shadow of a
corner he caught a pale gleam of Jen
nie’s face with great, staring eyes on
him. Watching his chance, he flashed
a look nt her; and then It seemed to
him the change In her face was won
derful.
Later, after he had left Mrs. Bland
with a meaning “Adios—mannna,” and
was walking along besides the old out
law, he found himself thinking of the
, girl instead of the woman, and of 1mw
j he hnd seen her face blaze with hope
nnd gratitude.
CHAPTER VII.
That night Duane was not troubled
by ghosts haunting his walking nnd
sleeping hours. He awoke feeling
1 bright and eager, and grateful to
| Euchre for hnving put something
worth while info his mind. During
breakfast, however, he was unusually
thoughtful, working over the idea of
how much or bow little he could con
fide in the outlaw. He was aware of
Euchre's scrutiny.
“Wal,” began the old man. nt last,
"how'd you make out with Jennie?
What'd you an’ she talk about?”
"We hod a little chat. You know
you wanted me to cheer her up."
Buchre sat with coffee-cup poised
and narrow eyes studying Duane.
“Buck, I've seen some outlaws
whose word was good. Mine is. You
ean trust me. I trusted you. (akin’
you over tlu^re an' puttin' you wise to
my tryin’ to help thet poor kid."
Thus enjoined by Euchre. Dunne be
gan to tell the conversations with Jen
nie and Mrs. Bland word for word.
Long before he had reached an end
Euchre set down the coffee-cup and
began to stare, and at the conclusion
of the story his face lost some of its
red color and beads of sweat stood
out thickly on his brow.
“Wal, If thet doesn’t floor me!” he
ejaculated, blinking at Duane. “Young
man, I flggered you was some swift,
an’ sure to make your mnrk on this
river; but I reckon I missed your real
caliber. Do you know what It ’ll take
to do all you promised Jen?”
“I haven't any Idea," replied Dunne,
gravely.
“You'll have to pull the wool over
Kate Bland's eyes, an’ even If she falls
in love with you, which's shore likely,
thet won’t he easy. An’ she'd kill you
in a ininnit. Buck. If she ever got
wise. Yon ain't mistaken her none,
are you ?"
“Not me, Euchre. She’s a woman.
I’d fear her more than nriy man.”
“Wal. you’ll have to kill Bland an’
Chess Alloway an’ Bug#, an’ mebbe
some others, before you can ride off
into the hills with thet girl.”
“All right. I'll meet what comes,”
said Dunne, quietly. “The great point
is to have horses ready and pick the
right moment, then rush the trick
through."
"Thet's the only chance for success.
An’ you can't do It alone."
“I'll have to. 1 wouldn’t ask you to
help me.”
"Wal, I’ll take my chances," replied
Euchre, gruffly. "I’m going to help
Jennie, you can gamble your Inst peso
on thet.”
They talked and plnnned, though In
truth It was Euchre who planned.
Duane who listened and agreed. While
awaiting the return of Bland and his
lieutenants it would be well for Dunne
to grow friendly with the other out
laws. to sit in a few games of monte,
or show a willingness to spend a little
money. The two schemers were to
OriK 1
She Contrived to Pace the Window.
call upon Mrs. Kland every day—
Kuclire to curry messages of cheer and
warning to Jennie, Dunne to blind the
elder woman at any cost. These pre
liminaries decided upon, they proceed
ed to put them into action.
(Continued Next Week.)
Pearls From Bahrein.
The rtahrelti island* are now th»
center of the world's pearl trade.
They are on the western shores of
the Persian gulf and have become tha
most important part of the fisheries
of that body of water, which Is tha
chief source of the world's pearl sup
ply.