before the stage left. Already the word had spread that one of the
Dinsmores had been taken by an officer. Now the town gathered to see the
notorious "bad-man" and his tamer.

Dinsmore faced the curious crowd with a defiant sneer, but he was
burning with rage and humiliation. He and his crowd had carried things
with a high hand. They were not only outlaws; they were "bad-men" in the
frontier sense of the word. They had shot down turbulent citizens who
disputed their sway. Pete and Homer especially had won reputations as
killers, and game men sidestepped them rather than deny their claims.
Yet twice within a month this smooth-faced boy had crossed their path
and bested them. The pride of Homer Dinsmore was galled to the quick. He
would have given all he had to "get a lick at" the Ranger now before
all these people.

Tascosa watched the young officer and his captive from a distance. The
townsfolk offered no audible comment on the situation, either by way of
approval or disapproval. The fear of the outlaws had been too long over
them. This was not the end of the matter. It was still a good betting
proposition that some one of the gang would "get" this jaunty youth
before he was much older.

But it is certain that the arrest he had made single-handed had its
effect. It is inevitable that a frontier camp shall some day discard its
wild youth and put on the sobriety of a settled community. Was this time
at hand for the Panhandle?

A rider galloped out of town after the horsemen. The Ranger turned to
face him and made sure that the rifle beneath his leg would slip easily
from its scabbard. An attempt at a rescue was always a possibility on
the cards.

The man drew his cow-pony up beside them.

"'Evenin', Mr. Man-in-a-Hurry. Lookin' for anybody in particular?" asked
the red-haired Ranger, his chill eyes fixed on the stranger.

"For you. I want to help guard your prisoner to Mobeetie."

"Much obliged," answered Roberts dryly. "Am I needin' help?"

"You may. You've got to sleep. Let me ride with you."

The brain of Jack Roberts began to register a memory. This young fellow
was in ragged jeans and a butternut shirt. His hair was long and
unkempt. He looked haggard and ill-fed. But he was the same youth the
Ranger had glimpsed for a moment in the bravery of fine clothes and gay
address on the day of the bulldogging. Jack remembered his promise to
Ramona Wadley.

"Fine! Come along. We'll take watch and watch through th