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thoughtfully。
Anson doubled a huge fist and cursed deep under his breath
the reaction of a man whose accomplices and partners and
tools； whose luck； whose faith in himself had failed him。 He
flung himself down under a tree； and after a while； when his
rigidity relaxed； he probably fell asleep。 Moze and Shady
kept at their game。 Wilson paced to and fro； sat down； and
then got up to bunch the horses again； walked around the
dell and back to camp。 The afternoon hours were long。 And
they were waiting hours。 The act of waiting appeared on the
surface of all these outlaws did。
At sunset the golden gloom of the glen changed to a vague；
thick twilight。 Anson rolled over； yawned； and sat up。 As he
glanced around； evidently seeking Burt； his face clouded。
〃No sign of Burt？〃 he asked。
Wilson expressed a mild surprise。 〃Wal； Snake； you ain't
expectin' Burt now？〃
〃I am； course I am。 Why not？〃 demanded Anson。 〃Any other
time we'd look fer him； wouldn't we？〃
〃Any other time ain't now。 。 。 。 Burt won't ever come back！〃
Wilson spoke it with a positive finality。〃
〃A…huh！ Some more of them queer feelin's of yourn
operatin' again； hey？ Them onnatural kind thet you can't
explain； hey？〃
Anson's queries were bitter and rancorous。
〃Yes。 An'； Snake； I tax you with this heah。 Ain't any of
them queer feelin's operatin' in you？ 〃
〃No！〃 rolled out the leader； savagely。 But his passionate
denial was a proof that he lied。 From the moment of this
outburst； which was a fierce clinging to the old； brave
instincts of his character； unless a sudden change marked
the nature of his fortunes； he would rapidly deteriorate to
the breaking…point。 And in such brutal； unrestrained natures
as his this breaking…point meant a desperate stand； a
desperate forcing of events； a desperate accumulation of
passions that stalked out to deal and to meet disaster and
blood and death。
Wilson put a little wood on the fire and he munched a
biscuit。 No one asked him to cook。 No one made any effort to
do so。 One by one each man went to the pack to get some
bread and meat。
Then they waited as men who knew not what they waited for；
yet hated and dreaded it。
Twilight in that glen was naturally a strange； veiled
condition of the atmosphere。 It was a merging of shade and
light； which two seemed to make gray； creeping shadows。
Suddenly a snorting and stamping of the horses startled the
men。
〃Somethin' scared the hosses；〃 said Anson； rising。 〃Come
on。〃
Moze accompanied him； and they disappeared in the gloom。
More trampling of hoofs was heard； then a cracking of brush；
and the deep voices of men。 At length the two outlaws
returned； leading three of the horses； which they haltered
in the open glen。
The camp…fire light showed Anson's face dark and serious。
〃Jim； them hosses are wilder 'n deer；〃 he said。 〃I ketched
mine； an' Moze got two。 But the rest worked away whenever we
come close。 Some varmint has scared them bad。 We all gotta
rustle out thar quick。〃
Wilson rose； shaking his head doubtfully。 And at that moment
the quiet air split to a piercing； horrid neigh of a
terrified horse。 Prolonged to a screech； it broke and ended。
Then followed snorts of fright； pound and crack and thud of
hoofs； and crash of brush； then a gathering thumping；
crashing roar； split by piercing sounds。
〃Stampede！〃 yelled Anson； and he ran to hold his own horse；
which he had haltered right in camp。 It was big and
wild…looking； and now reared and plunged to break away。
Anson just got there in time； and then it took all his
weight to pull the horse down。 Not until the crashing；
snorting； pounding melee had subsided and died away over the
rim of the glen did Anson dare leave his frightened
favorite。
〃Gone！ Our horses are gone！ Did you hear 'em？〃 he exclaimed；
blankly。
〃Shore。 They're a cut…up an' crippled bunch by now；〃 replied
Wilson。
〃Boss； we'll never git 'ern back； not 'n a hundred years；〃
declared Moze。
〃Thet settles us； Snake Anson；〃 stridently added Shady
Jones。 〃Them hosses are gone！ You can kiss your hand to
them。 。 。 。 They wasn't hobbled。 They hed an orful scare。
They split on thet stampede an' they'll never git together。
。 。 。 See what you've fetched us to！〃
Under the force of this triple arraignment the outlaw leader
dropped to his seat； staggered and silenced。 In fact；
silence fell upon all the men and likewise enfolded the
glen。
Night set in jet…black； dismal； lonely； without a star。
Faintly the wind moaned。 Weirdly the brook babbled through
its strange chords to end in the sound that was hollow。 It
was never the same a rumble； as if faint； distant thunder
a deep gurgle； as of water drawn into a vortex a
rolling； as of a stone in swift current。 The black cliff was
invisible； yet seemed to have many weird faces； the giant
pines loomed spectral； the shadows were thick； moving；
changing。 Flickering lights from the camp…fire circled the
huge trunks and played fantastically over the brooding men。
This camp…fire did not burn or blaze cheerily； it had no
glow； no sputter； no white heart； no red； living embers。 One
by one the outlaws； as if with common consent； tried their
hands at making the fire burn aright。 What little wood had
been collected was old； it would burn up with false flare；
only to die quickly。
After a while not one of the outlaws spoke or stirred。 Not
one smoked。 Their gloomy eyes were fixed on the fire。 Each
one was concerned with his own thoughts； his own lonely soul
unconsciously full of a doubt of the future。 That brooding
hour severed him from comrade。
At night nothing seemed the same as it was by day。 With
success and plenty； with full…blooded action past and more
in store； these outlaws were as different from their present
state as this black night was different from the bright day
they waited for。 Wilson； though he played a deep game of
deceit for the sake of the helpless girl and thus did not
have haunting and superstitious fears on her account was
probably more conscious of impending catastrophe than any of
them。
The evil they had done spoke in the voice of nature； out of
the darkness； and was interpreted by each according to his
hopes and fears。 Fear was their predominating sense。 For
years they had lived with some species of fear of honest
men or vengeance； of pursuit； of starvation； of lack of
drink or gold； of blood and death； of stronger men； of luck；
of chance； of fate； of mysterious nameless force。 Wilson was
the type of fearless spirit； but he endured the most gnawing
and implacable fear of all that of himself that he
must inevitably fall to deeds beneath his manhood。
So they hunched around the camp…fire； brooding because hope
was at lowest ebb； listening because the weird； black
silence； with its moan of wind and hollow laugh of brook；
compelled them to hear； waiting for sleep； for the hours to
pass； for whatever was to come。
And it was Anson who caught the first intimation of an
impending doom。
CHAPTER XXIII
〃Listen！〃
Anson whispered tensely。 His poise was motionless； his eyes
roved everywhere。 He held up a sh