oblige' surrender.
But in thees No Man's Land, we are man to man. I refuse."

The lift of excitement was in the voice of the young Mexican. He knew
the record of the Texas Rangers. They took their men in dead or alive.
This particular member of the force was an unusually tough nut to crack.
In the heart of Tony was the drench of a chill wave. He was no coward,
but he knew he had no such unflawed nerve as this man. Through his mind
there ran a common laconic report handed in by Rangers returning from an
assignment--"Killed while resisting arrest." Alviro did not want Ranger
Roberts to write that about him.

"Better not, Alviro. I have a warrant for your arrest."

The Texan did not raise his voice. He made no movement to draw a gun.
But to Tony, fascinated by his hard, steel-gray eyes, came the certainty
that he must go or fight. They were four to one against the Ranger, but
that would not make the least difference. In the curt alternative of
this clean-jawed young officer was cold finality.

The worried eyes of the fugitive referred to his companions. They had
agreed to stand by him, and he knew that if it came to a fight they
would. But he wanted more than that. His glance was an appeal for one of
them to make his decision for him.

The voice of the _tendejon_-keeper interjected itself smoothly.
"You've played yore hand out, friend. We're four to one. You go back an'
report nothin' doin'."

Roberts looked at the man, and a little shiver ran down the barkeeper's
spine. "There won't be four of you when we get through arguin' this,
_amigo_, if we ever start," the Ranger suggested gently.

The proprietor of the place dropped his hand to the butt of his gun. But
he did not draw. Some deep, wise instinct warned him to go slow. He knew
the others would take their cue from him. If he threw down the gage of
battle the room would instantly become a shambles. How many of them
would again pass alive through the door nobody knew. He was a man who
had fought often, but he could not quite bring himself to such a
decision while those chilled-steel eyes bored into his. Anyhow, the game
was not worth the candle.

"What is it you want Tony for?" he temporized, playing for time and any
chance that might arise.

"For killin' Rutherford Wadley last month."

"A mistake. Tony has been here since the full of the moon."

"Oh, no. He was at the dance on Tomichi Creek. He tried to knife young
Wadley. He left the house right after him.