"

"I left--_si, senor_--but to come here," cried the accused man.

"To follow Wadley, Tony. You jumped a camper that night an' didn't know
it. He saw you."

"Wadley was a dog, but I did not kill him," Alviro said gloomily.

"That so? You were on the spot. You left tracks. I measured 'em. They
were the same tracks you left out in the corral five hours ago."

Tony's eyes flashed with a sudden discovery. "The mud--you meex it to
get my footprints."

"You're a good guesser."

Alviro threw up his hands. "I was there. It iss true. But I did not kill
the _gringo_ dog. I was too late."

"You can tell me all about that on the way back."

"If I go back they will hang me."

"You'll get a fair trial."

"By a _gringo_ jury before a _gringo_ judge." The tone of
Alviro was more than skeptical. It was bitter with the sense of racial
injustice.

"I can't argue that with you, Tony. My business is to take you to
Tascosa. That's what I'm here for."

The American behind the bar spoke again. "Listens fine! He's a Mexican,
ain't he? They claim he killed a white man. Well, then, the mob would
take him from you an' lynch him sure."

"The Rangers don't give up their prisoners, my friend. They take 'em an'
they keep 'em. You'd ought to know that."

The _tendejon_-keeper flushed. He had been dragged to justice once
by one of the force.

The eyes of the four consulted again. They were still hesitant. The
shame of letting this youth take from them their companion without a
fight was like a burr under a saddle-blanket to a bronco. But after all,
the Ranger stood for law. If they killed him, other Rangers would come
to avenge his death.

When men are in doubt the one who is sure dominates the situation. The
eye of Roberts carried the compulsion of a deadly weapon. His voice was
crisp.

"Come here, Tony," he ordered, and his fingers slipped into the pocket
of his coat.

Alviro looked at him for a long second--swore to himself that he would
not come--and came.

"Hold out yore hands."

The Mexican set his will to refuse. There was still time to elect to
fight. He told himself that was what he was going to do. But he could
not hold his own in that steady battle of the eyes. His hands moved
forward--empty.

A moment, and the Ranger had slipped and fastened the handcuffs on his
wrists.

Roberts had won. Psychologically it was now too late for the others to
resort to arms. The _tendejon_-keeper recognized this with a shrug