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 being seen or heard.

As he was now a fugitive, it seemed every man was his enemy and pursuer.
The horsemen were fast approaching.

Presently they were abreast of Duane's position, so near that he could hear the creak of saddles, the clink of spurs.
"Shore he crossed the river below," said one man.
"I reckon you're right, Bill.

He's slipped us," replied another.
Rangers or a posse of ranchers in pursuit of a fugitive! The knowledge gave Duane a strange thrill.

Certainly they could not have been hunting him.