sspelled
Briskow letter for the edification of his chance acquaintance. Any
lingering doubt as to his friend's honesty of purpose would have
vanished utterly had he heard Mallow announce that he, too, was going
to Ranger, the very next night--a curious coincidence, truly--and
Gray's expression of pleasure at the prospect of such a congenial
traveling companion. The agitated Coverly no doubt would have phoned a
frantic call for the police, then and there.

Once Gray was in his rooms, however, his manner changed, and into his
eyes there came a triumphant glitter. Hastily he rummaged through one
of his bags, and from a collection of trinkets, souvenirs, and the like
he selected an object which he examined carefully, then took into the
bathroom for further experiment. His step was springy, his lips were
puckered, he was whistling blithely when he emerged, for at last those
vaguely outlined plans that had been at the back of his mind had
assumed form and pattern. His luck had turned, he had made a new start.
Mallow was indeed a crook, and Gray blessed the prompt good fortune
that had thrown both him and Coverly in his way.

It had been a busy day; he was well content with its fruitage.

CHAPTER III

Old Tom Parker was a "type." He was one of a small class of men at one
time common to the West, but now rapidly disappearing. A turbulent
lifetime spent in administering the law in a lawless region had stamped
him with the characteristics of a frontier officer--_viz_., vigilance,
caution, self-restraint, sang-froid. For more than thirty years he had
worn a badge of some sort and, in the serving of warrants and other
processes of law, he had covered, first in the saddle or on buckboard,
later in Pullman car or automobile, most of that vast region lying
between the Arkansas and the Pecos, the Cimarron, and the
Sabine--virtually all of what is now Texas and Oklahoma. He still spoke
of the latter state, by the way, as "the Territory," and there were few
corners of it that he had not explored long before it ceased to be a
haven of hunted men.

That is what Tom Parker had been--a hunter of men--and time was when
his name had been famous. But he had played his part. The times had
caught up with and passed him, and no longer in the administration of
justice was there need of abilities like his, hence the shield of his
calling had been taken away.

Now Tom did not reckon himself obsolete. He was badger-gray, to be
sure, and st