Hugh Pendexter

“ Stiffly sliding from the deep saddle, a snow-baked figure, the rider’s first thought was for his mount, which he led to a small sod-covered stable at the rear of the low cabin. It was with difficulty that his benumbed fingers threw open the crazy door. The horse gladly entered the hovel and whinnied softly in appreciation as he felt the blanket spread over his frost-rimmed back. Then the rider bowed against the wind and fought his way to the house. ”

“ But as she composed herself to watch more closely the latch rattled clumsily and the door began to open. With both hands clutched to her breast she turned and wildly faced the newcomer. A snow-covered figure awkwardly stepped inside, moving as men move who have quit the saddle when half-frozen. Then as one white arm swept off the low-drawn cap she gave a low cry and whispered:
“Oh, Bob! Bob! You’ve come at last!”
“I’ve come, Jane,” hoarsely replied the man, glaring in fear at the still, small form in the corner. “The doctor’s wife—she said the doctor had come here—said it was Eddie. ”

“ Lives a mile up the main trail on the right. She’s a woman with a sick kid. Reckon that lets ye out. Her husband’s name is Bob and they’ve separated.”
“It’s the Nevers family,” grumbled the doctor, seating himself in a deep rocker. “If the man had stayed with his wife and had cared for his child instead of——”
“Yas, but it seems he didn’t,” obtruded the old man in a menacing voice. “What ye waiting fer? Didn’t I say he was on the p’int of dying?”
“The average layman usually exaggerates the danger of an illness,” stiffly replied the doctor. ”

“ Jest ye keep yer shirt on,” soothed the old man. “Dipthery is a joke with these yere docter persons. Jest keep comfy till I come back. So long, ma’am. And don’t cry no more.”
With the points of the compass freshly fixed in his mind and with the rushing wind at his back he managed to keep his tired nag on a measurably straight course. But so thick was the snow he found himself a solitary figure in the long narrow street before a single light pricked through the encompassing blackness. A few rods more and he vaguely made out a square, squat building which he knew was the county jail. ”

“ Her husband buckled on his belt and, grinning sheepishly, replied:
“He’s old Jem Peace, the worst old rustler what ever dodged a posse. I’ve been trailing him for two weeks, trying to head him off from Johnson County, where the rustlers feel to home and free-like. I got a tip he was making down this way. The sheriff and the other deputies was cocksure he’d go north. They ’lowed ’twould be a big feather to nail the old feller. ”