Lie quiet in your graves and give me peace!" But they did not lie quiet in their graves and give him peace.
A group of specters trooped out of the shadows of dusk and, gathering round him, escorted him to his bed.
When Duane had been riding the trails passion-bent to escape pursuers, or passion-bent in his search, the constant action and toil and exhaustion made him sleep.

But when in hiding, as time passed, gradually he required less rest and sleep, and his mind became more active.

Little by little his phantoms gained hold on him, and at length, but for the saving power of his dreams, they would have claimed him utterly.
How many times he had said to himself: "I am an intelligent man.

I'm not crazy.

I'm in full possession of my faculties.