for his life, luckily to escape with no more
than a bullet-creased shoulder.

Later that day, still undaunted, he sheered again toward the trap-wall,
and found that the nearer he approached to the place where he had
come down into the brake the greater his danger. To attempt to run the
blockade of that trail by day would be fatal. He waited for night, and
after the brightness of the fires had somewhat lessened he assayed to
creep out of the brake. He succeeded in reaching the foot of the bluff,
here only a bank, and had begun to crawl stealthily up under cover of
a shadow when a hound again betrayed his position. Retreating to the
willows was as perilous a task as had ever confronted Duane, and when he
had accomplished it, right under what seemed a hundred blazing rifles,
he felt that he had indeed been favored by Providence. This time men
followed him a goodly ways into the brake, and the ripping of lead
through the willows sounded on all sides of him.

When the noise of pursuit ceased Duane sat down in the darkness, his
mind clamped between two things--whether to try again to escape or
wait for possible opportunity. He seemed incapable of decision. His
intelligence told him that every hour lessened his chances for escape.
He had little enough chance in any case, and that was what made another
attempt so desperately hard. Still it was not love of life that bound
him. There would come an hour, sooner or later, when he would wrench
decision out of this chaos of emotion and thought. But that time was not
yet. He had remained quiet long enough to cool off and recover from his
run he found that he was tired. He stretched out to rest. But the swarms
of vicious mosquitoes prevented sleep. This corner of the brake was low
and near the river, a breeding-ground for the blood-suckers. They sang
and hummed and whined around him in an ever-increasing horde. He covered
his head and hands with his coat and lay there patiently. That was a
long and wretched night. Morning found him still strong physically, but
in a dreadful state of mind.

First he hurried for the river. He could withstand the pangs of hunger,
but it was imperative to quench thirst. His wound made him feverish,
and therefore more than usually hot and thirsty. Again he was refreshed.
That morning he was hard put to it to hold himself back from attempting
to cross the river. If he could find a light log it was within the
bounds of possibility that he might ford the sh