e horses were feeding, and a small
adobe house at one side.

"We've just had grub, but I'll see you get some. Then we'll talk," said
MacNelly. "I've taken up temporary quarters here. Have a rustler job on
hand. Now, when you've eaten, come right into the house."

Duane was hungry, but he hurried through the ample supper that was set
before him, urged on by curiosity and astonishment. The only way
he could account for his presence there in a ranger's camp was that
MacNelly hoped to get useful information out of him. Still that would
hardly have made this captain so eager. There was a mystery here, and
Duane could scarcely wait for it to be solved. While eating he had
bent keen eyes around him. After a first quiet scrutiny the rangers
apparently paid no more attention to him. They were all veterans in
service--Duane saw that--and rugged, powerful men of iron constitution.
Despite the occasional joke and sally of the more youthful members, and
a general conversation of camp-fire nature, Duane was not deceived about
the fact that his advent had been an unusual and striking one, which had
caused an undercurrent of conjecture and even consternation among them.
These rangers were too well trained to appear openly curious about their
captain's guest. If they had not deliberately attempted to be oblivious
of his presence Duane would have concluded they thought him an ordinary
visitor, somehow of use to MacNelly. As it was, Duane felt a suspense
that must have been due to a hint of his identity.

He was not long in presenting himself at the door of the house.

"Come in and have a chair," said MacNelly, motioning for the one other
occupant of the room to rise. "Leave us, Russell, and close the door.
I'll be through these reports right off."

MacNelly sat at a table upon which was a lamp and various papers. Seen
in the light he was a fine-looking, soldierly man of about forty years,
dark-haired and dark-eyed, with a bronzed face, shrewd, stern, strong,
yet not wanting in kindliness. He scanned hastily over some papers,
fussed with them, and finally put them in envelopes. Without looking up
he pushed a cigar-case toward Duane, and upon Duane's refusal to
smoke he took a cigar, rose to light it at the lamp-chimney, and then,
settling back in his chair, he faced Duane, making a vain attempt to
hide what must have been the fulfilment of a long-nourished curiosity.

"Duane, I've been hoping for this for two years," he began.

Dua