Impossible as it seemed, the ranger might have done it but for an accident. In the struggle, the rope had slipped to a point just below his knees. Fighting his way down the hill, foot by foot, the Texan felt the rope tighten. One of his attackers flung himself against his chest and he was tripped. The pack was on him again. Here there was more light, and though for a time the mass swayed back and forth, at last they hammered him down by main strength. He was bound hand and foot, and dragged back to the grove. They faced their victim, panting deeply from their exertions. Fraser looked round upon the circle of distorted faces, and stopped at one. Seen now, with the fury and malignancy of its triumph painted upon it, the face was one to bring bad dreams. The lieutenant, his chest still laboring heavily, racked with the torture of his torn shoulder, looked into that face out of the only calm eyes in the group. “So it's you, Struve?” “Yes, it's me--me and my friends.” “I've been looking for you high and low.” “Well, you've found me,” came the immediate exultant answer. “I reckon I'm indebted to you for this.” Fraser moved his shoulder slightly. “You'll owe me a heap more than that before the night's over.” “Your intentions were good then, I expect. Being shy a trigger finger spoils a man's aim.” “Not always.” “Didn't like to risk another shot from Bald Knob, eh? Must be some discouraging to hit only once out of three times at three hundred yards, and a scratch at that.” The convict swore. “I'll not miss this time, Mr. Lieutenant.” “You'd better not, or I'll take you back to the penitentiary where I put you before.” “You'll never put another man there, you meddling spy,” Struve cried furiously. “I'm not so sure of that. I know what you've got against me, but I should like to know what kick your friends have coming,” the ranger retorted. “You may have mine, right off the reel, Mr. Fraser, or whatever you call yourself. You came into this valley with a lie on your lips. We played you for a friend, and you played us for suckers. All the time you was in a deal with the sheriff for you know what. I hate a spy like I do a rattlesnake.” It was the man Yorky that spoke. Steve's eyes met his. “So I'm a spy, am I?” “You know best.” “Anyhow, you're going to shoot me first, and find out afterward?” “Wrong guess. We're going to hang you.” Struve, unable to keep back longer his bitter spleen, hissed this at him. “Yes, that's about your size, Struve. You can crow loud now, when the odds are six to one, with the one unarmed and tied at that. But what I want to know is--are you playing fair with your friends? Have you told them that every man in to-night's business will hang, sure as fate? Have you told them of those cowardly murders you did in Arizona and Texas? Have you told them that your life is forfeit, anyway? Do they know you're trying to drag them into your troubles? No? You didn't tell them that. I'm surprised at you, Struve.”