a bright light before he
made out the dark outline of the cabin. Then he heard voices, a merry
whistle, a coarse song, and the clink of iron cooking-utensils. He
smelled fragrant wood-smoke. He saw moving dark figures cross the light.
Evidently there was a wide door, or else the fire was out in the open.

Duane swerved to the left, out of direct line with the light, and thus
was able to see better. Then he advanced noiselessly but swiftly toward
the back of the house. There were trees close to the wall. He would make
no noise, and he could scarcely be seen--if only there was no watch-dog!
But all his outlaw days he had taken risks with only his useless life
at stake; now, with that changed, he advanced stealthy and bold as an
Indian. He reached the cover of the trees, knew he was hidden in their
shadows, for at few paces' distance he had been able to see only their
tops. From there he slipped up to the house and felt along the wall with
his hands.

He came to a little window where light shone through. He peeped in. He
saw a room shrouded in shadows, a lamp turned low, a table, chairs. He
saw an open door, with bright flare beyond, but could not see the
fire. Voices came indistinctly. Without hesitation Duane stole farther
along--all the way to the end of the cabin. Peeping round, he saw only
the flare of light on bare ground. Retracing his cautious steps, he
paused at the crack again, saw that no man was in the room, and then
he went on round that end of the cabin. Fortune favored him. There
were bushes, an old shed, a wood-pile, all the cover he needed at that
corner. He did not even need to crawl.

Before he peered between the rough corner of wall and the bush growing
close to it Duane paused a moment. This excitement was different from
that he had always felt when pursued. It had no bitterness, no pain, no
dread. There was as much danger here, perhaps more, yet it was not the
same. Then he looked.

He saw a bright fire, a red-faced man bending over it, whistling, while
he handled a steaming pot. Over him was a roofed shed built against
the wall, with two open sides and two supporting posts. Duane's second
glance, not so blinded by the sudden bright light, made out other men,
three in the shadow, two in the flare, but with backs to him.

"It's a smoother trail by long odds, but ain't so short as this one
right over the mountain," one outlaw was saying.

"What's eatin' you, Panhandle?" ejaculated another. "Blosso