by Hal Dunning
CHAPTER XVIII
THE LONG TRAIL
Jim Allen and his companion kept their horses at a gallop for a mile orso, then realizing there was no pursuit, they pulled them down to afast walk.
"That's the seventh town, since we hit New Mex, that we had to leavesuddenlike," Slivers growled.
Jim-twin Allen started singing:
"Oh, I'm a Texas cowboy, Far away from home. I longed to be an outlaw And----"
Slivers interrupted Allen's song with an oath, and putting spurs to hishorse, galloped on ahead. Allen watched him and then shook his head.
"Reckon the kid's plumb cured of hankerin' to be the bad boy fromBitter Creek," he commented to himself. "Guess he's thinkin' more ofhow to clear himself of the charge agin' him now than to make itdefinite by bustin' into Little Deadman's Branch an' shootin' up thegents what double crossed him. Reckon I showed him just in time what itmeans to ride the long trail."
Allen had deliberately taken Slivers through the small towns to givehim a taste of what it meant to be hunted.
That night the two camped in a thicket close to the Pecos. After theyhad finished their frugal meal, Slivers smoked several cigarettes andstared silently into the fire.
"Jim, yuh win," he said at last.
"Meanin'?"
"Meanin' yuh can boss things when we get to Little Deadman's. I ain'tsayin' that 'Spur' Treadwell, the gent what planted the killin' of'Iky' Small on me, ain't due to die. But I figger on runnin' with thelaw instead of agin' it from now on, so we'll get Spur legal."
"Yuh ain't hankerin' to be my partner no more an' ride the long trailwith me?" Allen bantered.
Slivers flushed and moved uncomfortably.
"Shucks, I ain't desertin' yuh, 'cause yuh'd never took me along noway. But I'm plumb sick of bein' chased ragged. Hell, I dream ofsheriffs sneakin' upon me," Slivers said slowly and a littleshame-facedly.
Suddenly Allens' face was old, lined with countless wrinkles. His eyesgrew somber, as he stared at Slivers' face. When he spoke again, it waslike a father speaking to a son.
"Kid, remember them words. No matter how rotten yore cards, play themstraight. It sounds excitin', this outlaw stuff, but the end of thelong trail is sartin sure. Yuh get so yuh can't trust no one. Friendstry to pot yuh in the back, an' excuse themselves by sayin' it's theircivic duty, while they're thinkin' of the blood money on your carcass.No, kid, there ain't nothin' in ridin' the long trail." Allen's voicehad been serious when he began, but it was flat, expressionless, as hefinished.
Slivers glanced at Allen's face and then looked hastily away.
When Slivers next glanced at Allen, the outlaw's face was once moreyoung. There was a broad grin on his face, as he stuffed some brownsugar in his pockets.
"How long yuh been hidin' out, Jim?" Slivers asked.
"Since I was eighteen. I'm twenty-eight now," Allen replied cheerfully,as he stepped into the brush to feed sugar to his two grays.
Ten years. Ten long, lonely years. Betrayed by friends, pursued by thelaw, constantly on the move. Yet there was no bitterness against hisfate, only a great fatigue. Slivers cursed himself for a weakling and ababy.
He stood up and shook his shoulders, and his growing hatred of theworld fell from him like a cloak. From now on he would fight like aman, fight to clear his name and confine his hatred to the man who hadframed him.
Before dawn the following day, they crossed the Pecos a little abovePilgrim's Crossing and started on their long ride across the StakedPlains. On the third day, they turned northeast and headed towardWichita Falls and then, little by little, they swung about until theywere traveling almost due north.
They traveled slowly, for it was necessary to keep their horses freshin case it became necessary to run for it. It was ten days after theycrossed the Pecos that they struck the rolling hills and dense thicketsthat marked the country to the south of the Nations, hangout of huntedmen.
One morning they looked down from the top of a heavily wooded hill intothe smooth cuplike valley through which flowed the Little Deadman'sCreek. At the farther end, doll-like buildings marked the site of theDouble R Ranch.
"There she is," Slivers cried.
"I'm bettin' yuh can pick out that gal of yourn settin' on the porch,"Allen grinned.
Slivers did not reply, but continued to stare out across the valley tothe ranch buildings. Allen's words were true, for he saw, even if itwere in his imagination, Dot Reed sitting on the front porch, just ashe had last seen her on that day he had had to flee from the mob whichwas intent on lynching him.
