“Come closer, stranger. Let's have a look at you,” the guard ordered, curtly. Duane advanced again until he stood before the man. Here the rays of light from the fires flickered upon Duane's face. “Reckon you're a stranger, all right. What's your name and your business with the Captain?” Duane hesitated, pondering what best to say. “Tell Captain MacNelly I'm the man he's been asking to ride into his camp--after dark,” finally said Duane. The ranger bent forward to peer hard at this night visitor. His manner had been alert, and now it became tense. “Come here, one of you men, quick,” he called, without turning in the least toward the camp-fire. “Hello! What's up, Pickens?” came the swift reply. It was followed by a rapid thud of boots on soft ground. A dark form crossed the gleams from the fire-light. Then a ranger loomed up to reach the side of the guard. Duane heard whispering, the purport of which he could not catch. The second ranger swore under his breath. Then he turned away and started back. “Here, ranger, before you go, understand this. My visit is peaceful--friendly if you'll let it be. Mind, I was asked to come here--after dark.” Duane's clear, penetrating voice carried far. The listening rangers at the camp-fire heard what he said. “Ho, Pickens! Tell that fellow to wait,” replied an authoritative voice. Then a slim figure detached itself from the dark, moving group at the camp-fire and hurried out. “Better be foxy, Cap,” shouted a ranger, in warning. “Shut up--all of you,” was the reply. This officer, obviously Captain MacNelly, soon joined the two rangers who were confronting Duane. He had no fear. He strode straight up to Duane. “I'm MacNelly,” he said. “If you're my man, don't mention your name--yet.” All this seemed so strange to Duane, in keeping with much that had happened lately. “I met Jeff Aiken to-day,” said Duane. “He sent me--” “You've met Aiken!” exclaimed MacNelly, sharp, eager, low. “By all that's bully!” Then he appeared to catch himself, to grow restrained. “Men, fall back, leave us alone a moment.” The rangers slowly withdrew. “Buck Duane! It's you?” he whispered, eagerly. “Yes.” “If I give my word you'll not be arrested--you'll be treated fairly--will you come into camp and consult with me?” “Certainly.” “Duane, I'm sure glad to meet you,” went on MacNelly; and he extended his hand. Amazed and touched, scarcely realizing this actuality, Duane gave his hand and felt no unmistakable grip of warmth. “It doesn't seem natural, Captain MacNelly, but I believe I'm glad to meet you,” said Duane, soberly. “You will be. Now we'll go back to camp. Keep your identity mum for the present.” He led Duane in the direction of the camp-fire. “Pickers, go back on duty,” he ordered, “and, Beeson, you look after this horse.”