“My name's Johnson.” “Not in Arizona, it isn't. Wolf Struve it is there, wanted for murder and other sundries.” He turned swiftly from him to his confederates. “You fools, you're putting your heads into a noose. He's in already, and wants you in, too. Test him. Throw the end of that rope over the limb, and stand back, while he pulls me up alone. He daren't--not for his life, he daren't. He knows that whoever pulls on that rope hangs himself as surely as he hangs me.” The men looked at each other, and at Struve. Were they being led into trouble to pay this man's scores off for him? Suspicion stirred uneasily in them. “That's right, too. Let Johnson pull him up,” Slim Leroy said sullenly. “Sure. You've got more at stake than we have. It's up to you, Johnson,” Yorky agreed. “That's right,” a third chipped in. “We'll all pull together, boys,” Struve insinuated. “It's only a bluff of his. Don't let him scare you off.” “He ain't scaring me off any,” declared Yorky. “He's a spy, and he's getting what is coming to him. But you're a stranger too, Johnson. I don't trust you any--not any farther than I can see you, my friend. I'll stand for being an aider and abettor, but I reckon if there's any hanging to be done you'll have to be the sheriff,” replied Yorky stiffly. Struve turned his sinister face on one and another of them. His lips were drawn back, so that the wolfish teeth gleamed in the moonlight. He felt himself being driven into a trap, from which there was no escape. He dared not let Fraser go with his life, for he knew that, sooner or later, the ranger would run him to earth, and drag him back to the punishment that was awaiting him in the South. Nor did he want to shoulder the responsibility of murdering this man before five witnesses. Came the sound of running footsteps. “What's that?” asked Slim nervously. “Where are you, Steve?” called a voice. “Here,” the ranger shouted back. A moment later Dick France burst into the group. “What's doing?” he panted. The ranger laughed hardily. “Nothing, Dick. Nothing at all. Some of the boys had notions of a necktie party, but they're a little shy of sand. Have you met Mr. Struve, Dick? I know you're acquainted with the others, Mr. Struve is from Yuma. An old friend of mine. Fact is, I induced him to locate at Yuma.” Dick caught at the rope, but Yorky flung him roughly back. “This ain't your put in, France,” he said. “It's up to Johnson.” And to the latter: “Get busy, if you're going to.” “He's a spy on you-all, just the same as he is on me,” blurted the convict. “That's a lie, Struve,” pronounced the lieutenant evenly. “I'm going to take you back with me, but I've got nothing against these men. I want to announce right now, no matter who tells a different story, that I haven't lost any Squaw Creek raiders and I'm not hunting any.” “You hear? He came into this valley after me.”