plied Duane.

"You never held up a man, robbed a store for grub, stole a horse when
you needed him bad--never anything like that?"

"Somehow I always kept out of that, just when pressed the hardest."

"Duane, I'm damn glad!" MacNelly exclaimed, gripping Duane's hand. "Glad
for you mother's sakel But, all the same, in spite of this, you are a
Texas outlaw accountable to the state. You're perfectly aware that under
existing circumstances, if you fell into the hands of the law, you'd
probably hang, at least go to jail for a long term."

"That's what kept me on the dodge all these years," replied Duane.

"Certainly." MacNelly removed his cigar. His eyes narrowed and
glittered. The muscles along his brown cheeks set hard and tense. He
leaned closer to Duane, laid sinewy, pressing fingers upon Duane's knee.

"Listen to this," he whispered, hoarsely. "If I place a pardon in your
hand--make you a free, honest citizen once more, clear your name of
infamy, make your mother, your sister proud of you--will you swear
yourself to a service, ANY service I demand of you?"

Duane sat stock still, stunned.

Slowly, more persuasively, with show of earnest agitation, Captain
MacNelly reiterated his startling query.

"My God!" burst from Duane. "What's this? MacNelly, you CAN'T be in
earnest!"

"Never more so in my life. I've a deep game. I'm playing it square. What
do you say?"

He rose to his feet. Duane, as if impelled, rose with him. Ranger and
outlaw then locked eyes that searched each other's souls. In MacNelly's
Duane read truth, strong, fiery purpose, hope, even gladness, and a
fugitive mounting assurance of victory.

Twice Duane endeavored to speak, failed of all save a hoarse, incoherent
sound, until, forcing back a flood of speech, he found a voice.

"Any service? Every service! MacNelly, I give my word," said Duane.

A light played over MacNelly's face, warming out all the grim darkness.
He held out his hand. Duane met it with his in a clasp that men
unconsciously give in moments of stress.

When they unclasped and Duane stepped back to drop into a chair MacNelly
fumbled for another cigar--he had bitten the other into shreds--and,
lighting it as before, he turned to his visitor, now calm and cool. He
had the look of a man who had justly won something at considerable
cost. His next move was to take a long leather case from his pocket and
extract from it several folded papers.

"Here's your pardon from the Gover