horse, and rode away across the mesa. A quarter
of an hour later he unsaddled, hobbled his horse, and rolled up in a
blanket. Immediately he fell into sound sleep.

It was broad day when he wakened. The young morning sun bathed him in
warmth. He lighted a fire of mesquite and boiled coffee. In his frying-
pan he cooked flapjacks, after he had heated the jerked beef which he
carried in his saddlebags. When he had eaten, he washed his pan with
clean, fine sand, repacked his supplies, and rode forward past the
sheep-corral to the village.

In front of a mud-and-log _tendejon_ two Mexicans lounged. They
watched him with silent hostility as he dismounted, tied his horse to a
snubbing-post worn shiny as a razor-strap, and sauntered into the
_tendejon_. This stranger wore the broad-rimmed felt hat and the
buckskin suit of a Ranger, and none of that force was welcome here.

Back of a flimsy counter was a shelf upon which were half a dozen
bottles and some glasses. One could buy here mescal, American whiskey,
and even wine of a sort. The owner of the place, a white man, was
talking to a young Mexican at the time the Ranger entered. The
proprietor looked hard at the Ranger with dislike he did not try to
veil. The Mexican in front of the bar was a slim young man with quick
eyes and an intelligent face. The Ranger recognized him at once as Tony
Alviro.

"_Buenos!_" the Ranger said with the most casual of nods. "I've
come to take you back with me, Tony."

The other two Mexicans had followed the Ranger into the room. The Texan
stood sideways at the end of the bar, quite at his ease, the right
forearm resting on the counter lightly. Not far from his fingers the
butt of a revolver projected from a holster. In his attitude was no
threat whatever, but decidedly a warning.

The four men watched him steadily.

"No, _Senor_ Roberts," answered Alviro. "You can touch me not. I'm
out of Texas."

"Mebbeso, Tony. But till I get further orders, this is Texas for me.
You're goin' back with me."

Rangers and outlaws held different views about this strip of land. To
the latter it was a refuge; law ended at its border; they could not be
touched here by State constabulary. But the Ranger did not split hairs.
He was law in the Panhandle, and if the man he wanted fled to disputed
territory the Ranger went after him.

"Not so," argued Alviro. "If you arrest me in Texas, I say 'Bad luck,'
but I go wiz you. There you are an offizer, an' I am