“I met him only a week ago over in Fairfield,” went on Aiken, hurriedly. “He declared you never killed my wife. I didn't believe him--argued with him. We almost had hard words over it. Now--I'm sorry. The last thing he said was: 'If you ever see Duane don't kill him. Send him into my camp after dark!' He meant something strange. What--I can't say. But he was right, and I was wrong. If Lucy had batted an eye I'd have killed you. Still, I wouldn't advise you to hunt up MacNelly's camp. He's clever. Maybe he believes there's no treachery in his new ideas of ranger tactics. I tell you for all it's worth. Good-by. May God help you further as he did this day!” Duane said good-by and touched the horse with his spurs. “So long, Buck!” called Sibert, with that frank smile breaking warm over his brown face; and he held his sombrero high. CHAPTER XIV When Duane reached the crossing of the roads the name Fairfield on the sign-post seemed to be the thing that tipped the oscillating balance of decision in favor of that direction. He answered here to unfathomable impulse. If he had been driven to hunt up Jeff Aiken, now he was called to find this unknown ranger captain. In Duane's state of mind clear reasoning, common sense, or keenness were out of the question. He went because he felt he was compelled. Dusk had fallen when he rode into a town which inquiry discovered to be Fairfield. Captain MacNelly's camp was stationed just out of the village limits on the other side. No one except the boy Duane questioned appeared to notice his arrival. Like Shirley, the town of Fairfield was large and prosperous, compared to the innumerable hamlets dotting the vast extent of southwestern Texas. As Duane rode through, being careful to get off the main street, he heard the tolling of a church-bell that was a melancholy reminder of his old home. There did not appear to be any camp on the outskirts of the town. But as Duane sat his horse, peering around and undecided what further move to make, he caught the glint of flickering lights through the darkness. Heading toward them, he rode perhaps a quarter of a mile to come upon a grove of mesquite. The brightness of several fires made the surrounding darkness all the blacker. Duane saw the moving forms of men and heard horses. He advanced naturally, expecting any moment to be halted. “Who goes there?” came the sharp call out of the gloom. Duane pulled his horse. The gloom was impenetrable. “One man--alone,” replied Duane. “A stranger?” “Yes.” “What do you want?” “I'm trying to find the ranger camp.” “You've struck it. What's your errand?” “I want to see Captain MacNelly.” “Get down and advance. Slow. Don't move your hands. It's dark, but I can see.” Duane dismounted, and, leading his horse, slowly advanced a few paces. He saw a dully bright object--a gun--before he discovered the man who held it. A few more steps showed a dark figure blocking the trail. Here Duane halted.