returned somewhat more vividly and accentuated by newer ones of
the same intensity and color.

In this kind of travel and camping he spent three more days, during
which he crossed a number of trails, and one road where cattle--stolen
cattle, probably--had recently passed. Thus time exhausted his supply
of food, except salt, pepper, coffee, and sugar, of which he had a
quantity. There were deer in the brakes; but, as he could not get close
enough to kill them with a revolver, he had to satisfy himself with a
rabbit. He knew he might as well content himself with the hard fare that
assuredly would be his lot.

Somewhere up this river there was a village called Huntsville. It
was distant about a hundred miles from Wellston, and had a reputation
throughout southwestern Texas. He had never been there. The fact was
this reputation was such that honest travelers gave the town a wide
berth. Duane had considerable money for him in his possession, and he
concluded to visit Huntsville, if he could find it, and buy a stock of
provisions.

The following day, toward evening, he happened upon a road which
he believed might lead to the village. There were a good many fresh
horse-tracks in the sand, and these made him thoughtful. Nevertheless,
he followed the road, proceeding cautiously. He had not gone very far
when the sound of rapid hoof-beats caught his ears. They came from his
rear. In the darkening twilight he could not see any great distance back
along the road. Voices, however, warned him that these riders, whoever
they were, had approached closer than he liked. To go farther down the
road was not to be thought of, so he turned a little way in among the
mesquites and halted, hoping to escape being seen or heard. As he was
now a fugitive, it seemed every man was his enemy and pursuer.

The horsemen were fast approaching. Presently they were abreast of
Duane's position, so near that he could hear the creak of saddles, the
clink of spurs.

"Shore he crossed the river below," said one man.

"I reckon you're right, Bill. He's slipped us," replied another.

Rangers or a posse of ranchers in pursuit of a fugitive! The knowledge
gave Duane a strange thrill. Certainly they could not have been hunting
him. But the feeling their proximity gave him was identical to what
it would have been had he been this particular hunted man. He held
his breath; he clenched his teeth; he pressed a quieting hand upon his
horse. Suddenly he became a