Fine employment of mind for a Ranger whose single glance down a quiet street pictured it with darkgarbed men in grim action, guns spouting red, horses plunging!

In front of Hoden’s restaurant I dismounted and threw my bridle.  Jim was unmistakably glad to see me.

“Where’ve you been?  Morton was in an’ powerful set on seein’ you.  I steered him from goin’ up to Sampson’s.  What kind of a game was you givin’ Frank?”

“Jim, I just wanted to see if he was a safe rancher to make a stock deal for me.”

“He says you told him he didn’t have no yellow streak an’ that he was a rustler.  Frank can’t git over them two hunches.  When he sees you he’s goin’ to swear he’s no rustler, but he has got a yellow streak, unless...”

This little, broken-down Texan had eyes like flint striking fire.

“Unless?” I queried sharply.

Jim breathed a deep breath and looked around the room before his gaze fixed again on mine.

“Wal,” he replied, speaking low, “Me and Frank allows you’ve picked the right men.  It was me that sent them letters to the Ranger captain at Austin.  Now who in hell are you?”

It was my turn to draw a deep breath.

I had taken six weeks to strike fire from a Texan whom I instinctively felt had been prey to the power that shadowed Linrock.  There was no one in the room except us, no one passing, nor near.

Reaching into the inside pocket of my buckskin vest, I turned the lining out.  A star-shaped, bright, silver object flashed as I shoved it, pocket and all, under Jim’s hard eyes.

He could not help but read; United States Deputy Marshall.

“By golly,” he whispered, cracking the table with his fist.  “Russ, you sure rung true to me.  But never as a cowboy!”

“Jim, the woods is full of us!”

Heavy footsteps sounded on the walk.  Presently Steele’s bulk darkened the door.

“Hello,” I greeted.  “Steele, shake hands with Jim Hoden.”

“Hello,” replied Steele slowly.  “Say, I reckon I know Hoden.”

“Nit.  Not this one.  He’s the old Hoden.  He used to own the Hope So saloon.  It was on the square when he ran it.  Maybe he’ll get it back pretty soon.  Hope so!”

I laughed at my execrable pun.  Steele leaned against the counter, his gray glance studying the man I had so oddly introduced.

Hoden in one flash associated the Ranger with me—­a relation he had not dreamed of.  Then, whether from shock or hope or fear I know not, he appeared about to faint.

“Hoden, do you know who’s boss of this secret gang of rustlers hereabouts?” asked Steele bluntly.

It was characteristic of him to come sharp to the point.  His voice, something deep, easy, cool about him, seemed to steady Hoden.

“No,” replied Hoden.

“Does anybody know?” went on Steele.

“Wal, I reckon there’s not one honest native of Pecos who knows.”