d as he had planned.

That fateful morning found Duane outwardly calm, but inwardly he was
in a tumult. He wanted to rush to Val Verde. Would Captain MacNelly be
there with his rangers, as Duane had planned for them to be? Memory of
that tawny Poggin returned with strange passion. Duane had borne hours
and weeks and months of waiting, had endured the long hours of the
outlaw, but now he had no patience. The whistle of the train made him
leap.

It was a fast train, yet the ride seemed slow.

Duane, disliking to face Longstreth and the passengers in the car,
changed his seat to one behind his prisoner. They had seldom spoken.
Longstreth sat with bowed head, deep in thought. The girls sat in a
seat near by and were pale but composed. Occasionally the train halted
briefly at a station. The latter half of that ride Duane had observed
a wagon-road running parallel with the railroad, sometimes right
alongside, at others near or far away. When the train was about twenty
miles from Val Verde Duane espied a dark group of horsemen trotting
eastward. His blood beat like a hammer at his temples. The gang!
He thought he recognized the tawny Poggin and felt a strange inward
contraction. He thought he recognized the clean-cut Blossom Kane, the
black-bearded giant Boldt, the red-faced Panhandle Smith, and Fletcher.
There was another man strange to him. Was that Knell? No! it could not
have been Knell.

Duane leaned over the seat and touched Longstreth on the shoulder.

"Look!" he whispered. Cheseldine was stiff. He had already seen.

The train flashed by; the outlaw gang receded out of range of sight.

"Did you notice Knell wasn't with them?" whispered Duane.

Duane did not speak to Longstreth again till the train stopped at Val
Verde.

They got off the car, and the girls followed as naturally as ordinary
travelers. The station was a good deal larger than that at Bradford, and
there was considerable action and bustle incident to the arrival of the
train.

Duane's sweeping gaze searched faces, rested upon a man who seemed
familiar. This fellow's look, too, was that of one who knew Duane, but
was waiting for a sign, a cue. Then Duane recognized him--MacNelly,
clean-shaven. Without mustache he appeared different, younger.

When MacNelly saw that Duane intended to greet him, to meet him, he
hurried forward. A keen light flashed from his eyes. He was glad, eager,
yet suppressing himself, and the glances he sent back and forth fr