ane's expectations were scarcely realized. As the
afternoon was waning he halted at a little inn. A boy took charge of his
horse. Duane questioned the lad about Fairdale and gradually drew to the
subject most in mind.

"Colonel Longstreth has a big outfit, eh?"

"Reckon he has," replied the lad. "Doan know how many cowboys. They're
always comin' and goin'. I ain't acquainted with half of them."

"Much movement of stock these days?"

"Stock's always movin'," he replied, with a queer look.

"Rustlers?"

But he did not follow up that look with the affirmative Duane expected.

"Lively place, I hear--Fairdale is?"

"Ain't so lively as Sanderson, but it's bigger."

"Yes, I heard it was. Fellow down there was talking about two cowboys
who were arrested."

"Sure. I heered all about that. Joe Bean an' Brick Higgins--they belong
heah, but they ain't heah much. Longstreth's boys."

Duane did not want to appear over-inquisitive, so he turned the talk
into other channels.

After getting supper Duane strolled up and down the main street. When
darkness set in he went into a hotel, bought cigars, sat around, and
watched. Then he passed out and went into the next place. This was of
rough crude exterior, but the inside was comparatively pretentious and
ablaze with lights. It was full of men coming and going--a dusty-booted
crowd that smelled of horses and smoke. Duane sat down for a while, with
wide eyes and open ears. Then he hunted up the bar, where most of the
guests had been or were going. He found a great square room lighted by
six huge lamps, a bar at one side, and all the floor-space taken up
by tables and chairs. This was the only gambling place of any size in
southern Texas in which he had noted the absence of Mexicans. There was
some card-playing going on at this moment. Duane stayed in there for
a while, and knew that strangers were too common in Fairdale to be
conspicuous. Then he returned to the inn where he had engaged a room.

Duane sat down on the steps of the dingy little restaurant. Two men were
conversing inside, and they had not noticed Duane.

"Laramie, what's the stranger's name?" asked one.

"He didn't say," replied the other.

"Sure was a strappin' big man. Struck me a little odd, he did. No
cattleman, him. How'd you size him?"

"Well, like one of them cool, easy, quiet Texans who's been lookin' for
a man for years--to kill him when he found him."

"Right you are, Laramie; and, between you an