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Within five minutes he was lost again among the thousand hills

that rose like waves of the sea, one after another. It was not

till nearly morning that he again struck a road.

He was halted abruptly by a crisp command from behind a bowlder:

"Up with your hands--quick!"

"Who are you, my friend?" the Texan asked mildly.

"Deputy sheriff," was the prompt response. "Now, reach for the

sky, and prompt, too."

"Just as you say. You've ce'tainly got the crawl on me."

The deputy disarmed his captive, and drove him into town before

him. When morning dawned, Fraser found himself behind the bars.

He was arrested for the murder of Faulkner.

CHAPTER II -- A COMPACT

After the jailer had brought his breakfast, Fraser was honored by

a visit from the sheriff, a big, rawboned Westerner, with the

creases of fifty outdoor years stamped on his brown, leathery

face.

He greeted his prisoner pleasantly enough, and sat down on the

bed.

"Treating you right, are they?" he asked, glancing around.

"Breakfast up to the mark?"