ware that these horsemen had halted. They
were whispering. He could just make out a dark group closely massed.
What had made them halt so suspiciously?

"You're wrong, Bill," said a man, in a low but distinct voice.

"The idee of hearin' a hoss heave. You're wuss'n a ranger. And you're
hell-bent on killin' that rustler. Now I say let's go home and eat."

"Wal, I'll just take a look at the sand," replied the man called Bill.

Duane heard the clink of spurs on steel stirrup and the thud of boots on
the ground. There followed a short silence which was broken by a sharply
breathed exclamation.

Duane waited for no more. They had found his trail. He spurred his horse
straight into the brush. At the second crashing bound there came yells
from the road, and then shots. Duane heard the hiss of a bullet close
by his ear, and as it struck a branch it made a peculiar singing sound.
These shots and the proximity of that lead missile roused in Duane a
quick, hot resentment which mounted into a passion almost ungovernable.
He must escape, yet it seemed that he did not care whether he did or
not. Something grim kept urging him to halt and return the fire of these
men. After running a couple of hundred yards he raised himself from over
the pommel, where he had bent to avoid the stinging branches, and tried
to guide his horse. In the dark shadows under mesquites and cottonwoods
he was hard put to it to find open passage; however, he succeeded so
well and made such little noise that gradually he drew away from his
pursuers. The sound of their horses crashing through the thickets died
away. Duane reined in and listened. He had distanced them. Probably they
would go into camp till daylight, then follow his tracks. He started on
again, walking his horse, and peered sharply at the ground, so that he
might take advantage of the first trail he crossed. It seemed a long
while until he came upon one. He followed it until a late hour, when,
striking the willow brakes again and hence the neighborhood of the
river, he picketed his horse and lay down to rest. But he did not sleep.
His mind bitterly revolved the fate that had come upon him. He made
efforts to think of other things, but in vain.

Every moment he expected the chill, the sense of loneliness that yet
was ominous of a strange visitation, the peculiarly imagined lights and
shades of the night--these things that presaged the coming of Cal Bain.
Doggedly Duane fought against the insidio