Without warning, through a narrow gulch which might have been sought in vain for ten years by a stranger, they passed into the rim of a bowl-shaped valley. Timber covered it from edge to edge, but over to the left a keen eye could see a thinning of the foliage. Toward this they went, following the sidehill and gradually dipping down through heavy underbrush. Before him the officer of rangers saw daylight, and presently a corral, low roofs, and grazing horses. "Looks like some one lives here," he remarked amiably. They were already riding into the open. In front of one of the log cabins the man who had called himself Flatray swung from his saddle. "Better 'light, lieutenant," he suggested carelessly. "We'll eat breakfast here." "Don't care if we do. I could eat a leather mail sack, I'm that hungry," the ranger answered, as he, too, descended. His guide was looking at him with an expression of open, malevolent triumph. He could scarce keep it back long enough to get the effect he wanted. "Yes, we'll eat breakfast here--and dinner, and supper, and breakfast to-morrow, and then about two more breakfasts." "I reckon we'll be too busy to sit around here," laughed his prisoner. The other ignored his comment. "And after that, it ain't likely you'll do much more eating." "I don't quite get the point of that joke." "You'll get it soon enough! You'd _savez_ it now, if you weren't a muttonhead. As it is, I'll have to explain it. Do you remember capturing Tony Chaves two years ago, lieutenant?" The ranger nodded, with surprise in his round, innocent eyes. "What happened to him?" demanded the other. A child could have seen that he was ridden by a leering, savage triumph. "Killed trying to escape four days later." "Who killed him?" "I did. It was necessary. I regretted it." A sudden spasm of cruelty swept over the face of the man confronting him. "Tony was my partner." "Your partner?" "That's right. I've been wanting to say 'How d'ye do?' ever since, Lieutenant O'Connor. I'm right glad to meet you." "But--I don't understand." He did, however. "It'll soak through, by and by. Chew on this: You've got just ninety-six hours to live--exactly as long as Tony lived after you caught him! You'll be killed trying to escape. It will be necessary, just as you say it was with him; but I reckon I'll not do any regretting to speak of." "You would murder me?" "Well, I ain't particular about the word I use." MacQueen leaned against the side of his horse, his arm thrown across its neck, and laughed in slow maliciousness. "Execute is the word I use, though--if you want to know." He had made no motion toward his weapon, nor had O'Connor; but the latter knew without looking that he was covered vigilantly by both of the other men. "And who are you?" the ranger asked, though he was quite sure of the answer. "Men call me Black MacQueen," drawled the other. "MacQueen! But you said----" "That I was Flatray. Yep--I lied."