Jed was in high good humor with himself.  His victim looked silent murder at him.

“One more thing, while you’re in a teachable frame of mind,” continued Briscoe.  “I run Lost Valley.  What I say, goes here.  Get that soaked into your think-tank, my friend.  Ever since you came, you’ve been disputing that in your mind.  You’ve been stirring up the boys against me.  Think I haven’t noticed it?  Guess again, Mr. Struve.  You’d like to be boss yourself, wouldn’t you?  Forget it.  Down in Texas you may be a bad, bad man, a sure enough wolf, but in Wyoming you only stack up to coyote size.  Let this slip your mind, and I’ll be running Lost Valley after your bones are picked white by the buzzards.”

“I ain’t a-goin’ to make you any trouble.  Didn’t I tell you that before?” growled Struve reluctantly.

“See you don’t, then.  Now I’ll come again to my news.  I was telling you that there’s another stranger in this valley, Mr. Struve.  Hails from Texas, too.  Name of Fraser.  Ever hear of him?”

Briscoe was hardly prepared for the change which came over the Texan at mention of that name.  The prominent eyes stared, and a deep, apoplectic flush ran over the scarred face.  The hand that caught at the wall trembled with excitement.

“You mean Steve Fraser—­ Fraser of the Rangers!” he gasped.

“That’s what I’m not sure of.  I got to milling it over after I left him, and it come to me I’d seen him or his picture before.  You still got that magazine with the article about him?”

“Yes,”

“I looked it over hurriedly.  Let me see his picture again, and I’ll tell you if it’s the same man.”

“It’s in the other room.”

“Get it.”

Struve presently returned with the magazine, and, opening it, pointed to a photograph of a young officer in uniform, with the caption underneath: 

            LieutenantStephen Fraser of the Texas rangers
Who, single-handed, ran down and brought to justice the worst gang of
                    outlaws known in recent years.

“It’s the same man,” Briscoe announced.

The escaped convict’s mouth set in a cruel line.

“One of us, either him or me, never leaves this valley alive,” he announced.

Jed laughed softly and handed back the revolver.  “That’s the way to talk.  My friend, if you mean that, you’ll need your gun.  Here’s hoping you beat him to it.”

“It won’t be an even break this time if I can help it.”

“I gather that it was, last time.”

“Yep.  We drew together.”  Struve interlarded his explanation with oaths.  “He’s a devil with a gun.  See that?” He held up his right band.

“I see you’re shy your most useful finger, if that’s what you mean.”

“Fraser took it off clean at twenty yards.  I got him in the hand, too, but right or left he’s a dead shot.  He might ‘a’ killed me if he hadn’t wanted to take me alive.  Before I’m through with him he’ll wish he had.”