"I heard you call him rustler. He knows thet. Why, Wright won't sleep at
night now. He an' Sampson have always been after me."

"Hoden, what are your eyes for?" demanded Steele. "Watch out. And now
here. See your friend Morton. Tell him this game grows hot. Together you
approach four or five men you know well and can absolutely trust.

"Hello, there's somebody coming. You meet Russ and me to-night, out in
the open a quarter of a mile, straight from the end of this street.
You'll find a pile of stones. Meet us there to-night at ten o'clock."

The next few days, for the several hours each day that I was in town, I
had Steele in sight all the time or knew that he was safe under cover.

Nothing happened. His presence in the saloons or any place where men
congregated was marked by a certain uneasy watchfulness on the part of
almost everybody, and some amusement on the part of a few.

It was natural to suppose that the lawless element would rise up in a
mass and slay Steele on sight. But this sort of thing never happened. It
was not so much that these enemies of the law awaited his next move, but
just a slowness peculiar to the frontier.

The ranger was in their midst. He was interesting, if formidable. He
would have been welcomed at card tables, at the bars, to play and drink
with the men who knew they were under suspicion.

There was a rude kind of good humor even in their open hostility.