“Company A, under Captain MacNelly, that new ranger. He made a big name in the war. And since he's been in the ranger service he's done wonders. He's cleaned up some bad places south, and he's working north.” “MacNelly. I've heard of him. Describe him to me.” “Slight-built chap, but wiry and tough. Clean face, black mustache and hair. Sharp black eyes. He's got a look of authority. MacNelly's a fine man, Duane. Belongs to a good Southern family. I'd hate to have him look you up.” Duane did not speak. “MacNelly's got nerve, and his rangers are all experienced men. If they find out you're here they'll come after you. MacNelly's no gun-fighter, but he wouldn't hesitate to do his duty, even if he faced sure death. Which he would in this case. Duane, you mustn't meet Captain MacNelly. Your record is clean, if it is terrible. You never met a ranger or any officer except a rotten sheriff now and then, like Rod Brown.” Still Duane kept silence. He was not thinking of danger, but of the fact of how fleeting must be his stay among friends. “I've already fixed up a pack of grub,” went on Jones. “I'll slip out to saddle your horse. You watch here.” He had scarcely uttered the last word when soft, swift footsteps sounded on the hard path. A man turned in at the gate. The light was dim, yet clean enough to disclose an unusually tall figure. When it appeared nearer he was seen to be walking with both arms raised, hands high. He slowed his stride. “Does Burt Jones live here?” he asked, in a low, hurried voice. “I reckon. I'm Burt. What can I do for you?” replied Jones. The stranger peered around, stealthily came closer, still with his hands up. “It is known that Buck Duane is here. Captain MacNelly's camping on the river just out of town. He sends word to Duane to come out there after dark.” The stranger wheeled and departed as swiftly and strangely as he had come. “Bust me! Duane, whatever do you make of that?” exclaimed Jones. “A new one on me,” replied Duane, thoughtfully. “First fool thing I ever heard of MacNelly doing. Can't make head nor tails of it. I'd have said offhand that MacNelly wouldn't double-cross anybody. He struck me as a square man, sand all through. But, hell! he must mean treachery. I can't see anything else in that deal.” “Maybe the Captain wants to give me a fair chance to surrender without bloodshed,” observed Duane. “Pretty decent of him, if he meant that.” “He INVITES YOU out to his camp AFTER DARK. Something strange about this, Duane. But MacNelly's a new man out here. He does some queer things. Perhaps he's getting a swelled head. Well, whatever his intentions, his presence around Mercer is enough for us. Duane, you hit the road and put some miles between you the amiable Captain before daylight. To-morrow I'll go out there and ask him what in the devil he meant.” “That messenger he sent--he was a ranger,” said Duane.