here, one of you men, quick," he called, without turning in the
least toward the camp-fire.

"Hello! What's up, Pickens?" came the swift reply. It was followed by a
rapid thud of boots on soft ground. A dark form crossed the gleams from
the fire-light. Then a ranger loomed up to reach the side of the guard.
Duane heard whispering, the purport of which he could not catch. The
second ranger swore under his breath. Then he turned away and started
back.

"Here, ranger, before you go, understand this. My visit is
peaceful--friendly if you'll let it be. Mind, I was asked to come
here--after dark."

Duane's clear, penetrating voice carried far. The listening rangers at
the camp-fire heard what he said.

"Ho, Pickens! Tell that fellow to wait," replied an authoritative voice.
Then a slim figure detached itself from the dark, moving group at the
camp-fire and hurried out.

"Better be foxy, Cap," shouted a ranger, in warning.

"Shut up--all of you," was the reply.

This officer, obviously Captain MacNelly, soon joined the two rangers
who were confronting Duane. He had no fear. He strode straight up to
Duane.

"I'm MacNelly," he said. "If you're my man, don't mention your
name--yet."

All this seemed so strange to Duane, in keeping with much that had
happened lately.

"I met Jeff Aiken to-day," said Duane. "He sent me--"

"You've met Aiken!" exclaimed MacNelly, sharp, eager, low. "By all
that's bully!" Then he appeared to catch himself, to grow restrained.

"Men, fall back, leave us alone a moment."

The rangers slowly withdrew.

"Buck Duane! It's you?" he whispered, eagerly.

"Yes."

"If I give my word you'll not be arrested--you'll be treated
fairly--will you come into camp and consult with me?"

"Certainly."

"Duane, I'm sure glad to meet you," went on MacNelly; and he extended
his hand.

Amazed and touched, scarcely realizing this actuality, Duane gave his
hand and felt no unmistakable grip of warmth.

"It doesn't seem natural, Captain MacNelly, but I believe I'm glad to
meet you," said Duane, soberly.

"You will be. Now we'll go back to camp. Keep your identity mum for the
present."

He led Duane in the direction of the camp-fire.

"Pickers, go back on duty," he ordered, "and, Beeson, you look after
this horse."

When Duane got beyond the line of mesquite, which had hid a good view of
the camp-site, he saw a group of perhaps fifteen rangers sitting around
the fires, near a long low shed wher