the country."

"Mother!" exclaimed Duane.

"She's away from home. You can't wait. I'll break it to
her--what she always feared."

Suddenly Duane sat down and covered his face with his hands.

"My God! Uncle, what have I done?" His broad shoulders shook.

"Listen, son, an' remember what I say," replied the elder man,
earnestly. "Don't ever forget. You're not to blame. I'm glad to
see you take it this way, because maybe you'll never grow hard
an' callous. You're not to blame. This is Texas. You're your
father's son. These are wild times. The law as the rangers are
laying it down now can't change life all in a minute. Even your
mother, who's a good, true woman, has had her share in making
you what you are this moment. For she was one of the
pioneers--the fightin' pioneers of this state. Those years of
wild times, before you was born, developed in her instinct to
fight, to save her life, her children, an' that instinct has
cropped out in you. It will be many years before it dies out of
the boys born in Texas."

"I'm a murderer," said Duane, shuddering.

"No, son, you're not. An' you never will be. But you've got to
be an outlaw till time makes it safe for you to come home."