"Unless?" I queried sharply.

Jim breathed a deep breath and looked around the room before his gaze
fixed again on mine.

"Wal," he replied, speaking low, "Me and Frank allows you've picked the
right men. It was me that sent them letters to the Ranger captain at
Austin. Now who in hell are you?"

It was my turn to draw a deep breath.

I had taken six weeks to strike fire from a Texan whom I instinctively
felt had been prey to the power that shadowed Linrock. There was no one
in the room except us, no one passing, nor near.

Reaching into the inside pocket of my buckskin vest, I turned the lining
out. A star-shaped, bright, silver object flashed as I shoved it, pocket
and all, under Jim's hard eyes.

He could not help but read; United States Deputy Marshall.

"By golly," he whispered, cracking the table with his fist. "Russ, you
sure rung true to me. But never as a cowboy!"

"Jim, the woods is full of us!"

Heavy footsteps sounded on the walk. Presently Steele's bulk darkened
the door.