got an ace up my sleeve you don't know about."

A minute later a great yell of triumph rose in the air. The door of the
sod-house had opened, and the Ranger and his prisoner stood in front of
it. The mob pushed closer, uncertain as to what its next move would be.
Had Roberts brought out the Mexican with the intention of making a
merely formal resistance?

Pete Dinsmore, just arrived on the scene at the head of a group from the
saloons, shouldered his way to the front.

"We'll take care of yore prisoner now, Mr. Ranger. Much obliged for
savin' us the trouble of tearin' down the soddy," he called jubilantly.

"You got more sense an' less grit than I figured you had," jeered
Gurley. "Now light a shuck back to Mobeetie an' write a report on it."

Roberts waited, silent and motionless, for the tumult to die. Only his
eyes and his brain were active. Homer Dinsmore was in the crowd, well to
the front. So were Jumbo Wilkins, Clint Wadley, and half a dozen other
line-riders and cowmen, all grouped together to the left. Fifty yards
back of them a group of saddled horses waited.

The shouting spent itself. The motionless figure beside the pallid
Mexican excited curiosity. Did he mean to give up his prisoner without a
fight? That was not the usual habit of the Texas Ranger.

With his left hand Jack drew from a coat-pocket some dark sticks a few
inches long. A second time his six-shooter leaped from its scabbard.

"Look out for his cutter!"[4] yelled Gurley.

The voice of Wadley boomed out harsh and strong, so that every man
present heard what he said. "Gad, he's got dynamite!"

The revolvers of the two Dinsmores were already out. They had moved
forward a step or two, crouching warily, eyes narrowed and steady. If
this brash young Ranger wanted a fight he could have it on the jump. But
at Wadley's shout they stopped abruptly. The owner of the A T O was
right. The fool officer had several sticks of dynamite in his hand tied
together loosely by a string.

The crowd had been edging forward. There was no break in it now, but one
could see a kind of uneasy ripple, almost as though it held its mob
breath tensely and waited to see what was to come.

"He's got no fuse!" screamed Gurley.

"Here's my fuse," retorted the Ranger. He held up his revolver so that
all could see. "I'm goin' to fling this dynamite at the first man who
tries to stop me an' hit it while it's in the air close to his head.
Come on, Tony. We're on our way.