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
t 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