straight across country; they're following the trail. No, seh, our
best bet is my rangers. They'd ought to land him, too."

"Oh, ought to," derided the other impatiently. "Point is, if they
don't. How are we going to save her? You know this country. I don't."

"Don't tear your shirt, amigo," smiled the ranger. "We'll arrive
faster if we don't go off half-cocked. Let's picket the broncs, amble
down to the spring, and smoke a cigaret. We've got to ride twenty
miles for fresh hawsses and these have got to have a little rest."

They unsaddled and picketed, then strolled to the spring.

"I've been thinking that maybe we have made a mistake. Isn't it
possible the man with Miss Kinney is not Struve?" asked Neill.

"That's easy proved. You saw him this mo'ning." The lieutenant went
down into his pocket once more for a photograph. "Does this favor the
man with Miss Kinney?"

Under the blaze of another match, shielded by the ranger s hands,
Larry looked into the scowling, villainous face he had seen earlier in
the day. There could be no mistaking those leering, cruel eyes nor the
ratlike, shifty look of the face, not to mention the long scar across
it. His heart sank.

"It's the man."

"Don't you blame yourself for not putting his lights out. How could
you tell who he was?"