the wrong man, and I can prove it if you'll give me time. Here's the
key to my room at the hotel in San Antonio. In my suit-case you'll
find letters that prove--"

"We don't need them. I've got proof right here," cut in Fraser,
remembering.

He slipped a hand into his coat pocket and drew out two photographs.
"Boys, here are the pictures and descriptions of the two men that
escaped from Yuma the other day. I hadn't had time to see this
gentleman before he spoke, being some busy explaining the situation to
you, but a blind jackass could see he don't favor either Kinney or
Struve, You're sure barking up the wrong tree."

The self-appointed committee for the execution of justice and the man
from the Panhandle looked the prison photographs over blankly. Between
the hard, clean-cut face of their prisoner and those that looked at
them from the photographs it was impossible to find any resemblance.
Duffield handed the prints back with puzzled chagrin.

"I guess you're right, Steve. But I'd like this gentleman to explain
how come he to be riding the horse one of these miscreants stole from
Maloney's barn last night."

Steve looked at the prisoner. "It's your spiel, friend," he said.

"All right. I'll tell you some facts. Just as I was coming down from
the Roskruge range this mo'ning I was held up for my team. One of
these fellows-- the one called Kinney-- had started from Fort Lincoln
on this roan here, but he was wounded and broke down. There was some