voice. Duane listened, and sometimes he thought with a pang of
the distinction of name and heritage of blood his father had
left to him.



CHAPTER III

Late that day, a couple of hours before sunset, Duane and
Stevens, having rested their horses in the shade of some
mesquites near the town of Mercer, saddled up and prepared to
move.

"Buck, as we're lookin' fer grub, an' not trouble, I reckon
you'd better hang up out here," Stevens was saying, as he
mounted. "You see, towns an' sheriffs an' rangers are always
lookin' fer new fellers gone bad. They sort of forget most of
the old boys, except those as are plumb bad. Now, nobody in
Mercer will take notice of me. Reckon there's been a thousand
men run into the river country to become outlaws since yours
truly. You jest wait here an' be ready to ride hard. Mebbe my
besettin' sin will go operatin' in spite of my good intentions.
In which case there'll be--"

His pause was significant. He grinned, and his brown eyes
danced with a kind of wild humor.

"Stevens, have you got any money?" asked Duane.

"Money!" exclaimed Luke, blankly. "Say, I haven't owned a