The innkeeper had one other guest that night, a long black-coated and wide-sombreroed Texan who reminded Duane of his grandfather. This man had penetrating eyes, a courtly manner, and an unmistakable leaning toward companionship and mint-juleps. The gentleman introduced himself as Colonel Webb, of Marfa, and took it as a matter of course that Duane made no comment about himself. “Sir, it's all one to me,” he said, blandly, waving his hand. “I have traveled. Texas is free, and this frontier is one where it's healthier and just as friendly for a man to have no curiosity about his companion. You might be Cheseldine, of the Big Bend, or you might be Judge Little, of El Paso-it's all one to me. I enjoy drinking with you anyway.” Duane thanked him, conscious of a reserve and dignity that he could not have felt or pretended three months before. And then, as always, he was a good listener. Colonel Webb told, among other things, that he had come out to the Big Bend to look over the affairs of a deceased brother who had been a rancher and a sheriff of one of the towns, Fairdale by name. “Found no affairs, no ranch, not even his grave,” said Colonel Webb. “And I tell you, sir, if hell's any tougher than this Fairdale I don't want to expiate my sins there.” “Fairdale.... I imagine sheriffs have a hard row to hoe out here,” replied Duane, trying not to appear curious. The Colonel swore lustily. “My brother was the only honest sheriff Fairdale ever had. It was wonderful how long he lasted. But he had nerve, he could throw a gun, and he was on the square. Then he was wise enough to confine his work to offenders of his own town and neighborhood. He let the riding outlaws alone, else he wouldn't have lasted at all.... What this frontier needs, sir, is about six companies of Texas Rangers.” Duane was aware of the Colonel's close scrutiny. “Do you know anything about the service?” he asked. “I used to. Ten years ago when I lived in San Antonio. A fine body of men, sir, and the salvation of Texas.” “Governor Stone doesn't entertain that opinion,” said Duane. Here Colonel Webb exploded. Manifestly the governor was not his choice for a chief executive of the great state. He talked politics for a while, and of the vast territory west of the Pecos that seemed never to get a benefit from Austin. He talked enough for Duane to realize that here was just the kind of intelligent, well-informed, honest citizen that he had been trying to meet. He exerted himself thereafter to be agreeable and interesting; and he saw presently that here was an opportunity to make a valuable acquaintance, if not a friend. “I'm a stranger in these parts,” said Duane, finally. “What is this outlaw situation you speak of?”