her,
and there he was warmly received. The feel of an honest hand, the voice
of a friend, the prattle of children who were not afraid of him or his
gun, good wholesome food, and change of clothes--these things for the
time being made a changed man of Duane. To be sure, he did not often
speak. The price of his head and the weight of his burden made him
silent. But eagerly he drank in all the news that was told him. In
the years of his absence from home he had never heard a word about his
mother or uncle. Those who were his real friends on the border would
have been the last to make inquiries, to write or receive letters that
might give a clue to Duane's whereabouts.

Duane remained all day with this hospitable Jones, and as twilight
fell was loath to go and yielded to a pressing invitation to remain
overnight. It was seldom indeed that Duane slept under a roof. Early
in the evening, while Duane sat on the porch with two awed and
hero-worshiping sons of the house, Jones returned from a quick visit
down to the post-office. Summarily he sent the boys off. He labored
under intense excitement.

"Duane, there's rangers in town," he whispered. "It's all over town,
too, that you're here. You rode in long after sunup. Lots of people saw
you. I don't believe there's a man or boy that 'd squeal on you. But the
women might. They gossip, and these rangers are handsome fellows--devils
with the women."

"What company of rangers?" asked Duane, quickly.

"Company A, under Captain MacNelly, that new ranger. He made a big name
in the war. And since he's been in the ranger service he's done wonders.
He's cleaned up some bad places south, and he's working north."

"MacNelly. I've heard of him. Describe him to me."

"Slight-built chap, but wiry and tough. Clean face, black mustache and
hair. Sharp black eyes. He's got a look of authority. MacNelly's a fine
man, Duane. Belongs to a good Southern family. I'd hate to have him look
you up."

Duane did not speak.

"MacNelly's got nerve, and his rangers are all experienced men. If they
find out you're here they'll come after you. MacNelly's no gun-fighter,
but he wouldn't hesitate to do his duty, even if he faced sure death.
Which he would in this case. Duane, you mustn't meet Captain MacNelly.
Your record is clean, if it is terrible. You never met a ranger or any
officer except a rotten sheriff now and then, like Rod Brown."

Still Duane kept silence. He was not thinking of danger, but