The lieutenant of rangers shook his dark curly head.

“Won’t do, Duffield.  Won’t do at all,” he said decisively.  “You’d ought to know law’s on top in Texas these days.”

Tom Long shouldered his way to the front.  “Law!  Where was the law when this ruffian Kinney shot down my poor brother Dave?  I guess a rope and a cottonwood’s good enough law for him.  Anyhow, that’s what he gits.”

Fraser, hard-packed, lithe, and graceful, laid a friendly hand on the other’s shoulder and smiled sunnily at him.

“I know how you feel, Tom.  We all thought a heap of Dave and you’re his brother.  But Dave died for the law.  Both you boys have always stood for order.  He’d be troubled if he knew you were turned enemy to it on his account.”

“I’m for justice, Steve.  This skunk deserves death and I’m going to see he gits it.”

“No, Tom.”

“I say yes.  Y’u ain’t sitting in this game, Steve.”

“I reckon I’ll have to take a hand then.”

The ranger’s voice was soft and drawling, but his eyes were indomitably steady.  Throughout the Southwest his reputation for fearlessness was established even among a population singularly courageous.  The audacity of his daredevil recklessness was become a proverb.

“We got a full table.  Better ride away and forget it,” said another.

“That ain’t what I’m paid for, Jack,” returned Fraser good-naturedly.  “Better turn him over to me peaceable, boys.  He’ll get what’s coming to him all right.”

“He’ll get it now, Steve, without any help of yours.  We don’t aim to allow any butting in.”

“Don’t you?”

There was a flash of steel as the ranger dived forward.  Next instant he and the prisoner stood with their backs to the cottonwood, a revolver having somehow leaped from its scabbard to his hand.  His hunting-knife had sheared at a stroke the riata round the engineer’s neck.

“Take it easy, boys,” urged Fraser, still in his gentle drawl, to the astonished vigilantes whom his sudden sally had robbed of their victim.  “Think about it twice.  We’ll all be a long time dead.  No use in hurrying the funerals.”

Nevertheless he recognized battle as inevitable.  Friends of his though they were, he knew these sturdy plainsmen would never submit to be foiled in their purpose by one man.  In the momentary silence before the clash the quiet voice of the prisoner made itself heard.

“Just a moment, gentlemen.  I don’t want you spilling lead over me.  I’m 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.”