You never met a ranger or any officer except a rotten sheriff now and then, like Rod Brown." Still Duane kept silence.

He was not thinking of danger, but of the fact of how fleeting must be his stay among friends.
"I've already fixed up a pack of grub," went on Jones.

"I'll slip out to saddle your horse.

You watch here." He had scarcely uttered the last word when soft, swift footsteps sounded on the hard path.

A man turned in at the gate.