territory. Twice he came to a wide bottom-land green with
willow and cottonwood and thick as chaparral, somewhere through

the middle of which ran a river he decided must be the lower
Nueces.

One evening, as he stole out from a covert where he had camped,
he saw the lights of a village. He tried to pass it on the

left, but was unable to because the brakes of this bottom-land
extended in almost to the outskirts of the village, and he had

to retrace his steps and go round to the right. Wire fences and
horses in pasture made this a task, so it was well after

midnight before he accomplished it. He made ten miles or more
then by daylight, and after that proceeded cautiously along a

road which appeared to be well worn from travel. He passed
several thickets where he would have halted to hide during the

day but for the fact that he had to find water.
He was a long while in coming to it, and then there was no

thicket or clump of mesquite near the waterhole that would
afford him covert. So he kept on.

The country before him was ridgy and began to show cottonwoods
here and there in the hollows and yucca and mesquite on the

higher ground. As he mounted a ridge he noted that the road
made a sharp turn, and he could not see what was beyond it. He

slowed up and was making the turn, which was down-hill between
high banks of yellow clay, when his mettlesome horse heard

something to frighten him or shied at something and bolted.
The few bounds he took before Duane's iron arm checked him were

enough to reach the curve. One flashing glance showed Duane the
open once more, a little valley below with a wide, shallow,

rocky stream, a clump of cottonwoods beyond, a somber group of
men facing him, and two dark, limp, strangelygrotesque figures

hanging from branches.
The sight was common enough in southwest Texas, but Duane had

never 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!"

"Thet's right, Jack; don't take no chances. Plug him!"
These remarks were so swiftly uttered as almost to be

continuous. Duane was wheeling his horse when a rifle cracked.
The bullet struck his left forearm and he thought broke it, for

he dropped the rein. The frightened horse leaped. Another
bullet whistled past Duane. Then the bend in the road saved him

probably from certain death. Like the wind his fleet steed wend
down the long hill.

Duane was in no hurry to look back. He knew what to expect. His
chief concern of the moment was for his injured arm. He found

that the bones were still intact; but the wound, having been
made by a soft bullet, was an exceedingly bad one. Blood poured

from it. Giving the horse his head, Duane wound his 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. The
leader was perhaps a quarter of a mile back, and the others

strung out behind him. Duane needed only one glance to tell him
that they were fast and hard-riding cowboys in a land where all

riders were good. They would not have owned any but strong,
swift horses. Moreover, it was a district where ranchers had

suffered beyond all endurance the greed and brutality of
outlaws. Duane had simply been so unfortunate as to run right

into a lynching party at a time of all times when any stranger
would be in danger and any outlaw put to his limit to escape

with his life.
Duane did not look back again till he had crossed the ridgy

piece of ground and had gotten to the level road. He had gained
upon his pursuers. 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; but his endurance had

never been put to a grueling test. And that worried Duane. His
life had made it impossible to keep one horse very long at a

time, and this one was an unknown quantity.
Duane had only one plan--the only plan possible in this

case--and that was to make the river-bottoms, where he might
elude his pursuers in the willow brakes. Fifteen miles or so

would bring him to the river, and this was not a hopeless
distance for any good horse if not too closely pressed. Duane

concluded presently that the cowboys behind were losing a
little in the chase because they were not extending their

horses. It was decidedly unusual for such riders to save their
mounts. Duane pondered over this, looking backward several

times to see if their horses were stretched out. They were not,
and the fact was disturbing. Only one reason presented itself

to Duane's conjecturing, and it was that with him headed
straight on that road his pursuers were satisfied not to force

the running. He began to hope and look for a trail or a road
turning off to right or left. There was none. A rough,

mesquite-dotted and yucca-spired country extended away on
either side. Duane believed that he would be compelled to take

to this hard going. One thing was certain--he had to go round
the village. The river, however, was on the outskirts of the

village; and once in the willows, he would be safe.
Dust-clouds far ahead caused his alarm to grow. He watched with

his eyes strained; he hoped to see a wagon, a few stray cattle.
But no, he soon descried several horsemen. Shots and yells

behind him attested to the fact that his pursuers likewise had
seen these new-comers on the scene. More than a mile separated

these two parties, yet that distance did not keep them from
soon understanding each other. Duane waited only to see this

new factor show signs of sudden quick action, and then, with a
muttered curse, he spurred his horse off the road into the

brush.
He chose the right side, because the river lay nearer that way.

There were patches of open sandy ground between clumps of
cactus and mesquite, and he found that despite a zigzag course

he made better time. It was impossible for him to locate his
pursuers. They would come together, he decided, and take to his

tracks.
What, then, was his surprise and dismay to run out of a thicket

right into a low ridge of rough, broken rock, impossible to get
a horse over. He wheeled to the left along its base. The sandy

ground gave place to a harder soil, where his horse did not
labor so. Here the growths of mesquite and cactus became

scanter, affording better travel but poor cover. He kept sharp
eyes ahead, and, as he had expected, soon saw moving

dust-clouds and the dark figures of horses. They were half a
mile away, and swinging obliquely across the flat, which fact

proved that they had entertained a fair idea of the country and
the fugitive's difficulty.

Without an instant's hesitation Duane put his horse to his best
efforts, straight ahead. He had to pass those men. When this

was seemingly made impossible by a deep wash from which he had
to turn, Duane began to feel cold and sick. Was this the end?

Always there had to be an end to an outlaw's career. He wanted
then to ride straight at these pursuers. But reason outweighed