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"See here! We're going to take you back with us, old man. That's

a cinch. We want you for that Squaw Creek raid, and we're going

to have you. You done enough damage. Better surrender peaceable,

and we'll promise to take you back to jail. What say?"

"Gimme five minutes to think it over," demanded the Texan.

"All right, five minutes. But you want to remember that it's all

off with you if you don't give up. Billy Faulkner's dead, and

we'll sure come a-shooting."

Fraser waited till his five minutes was nearly up, then plunged

across the road into the sagebrush growing thick there. A shot or

two rang out, without stopping him. Suddenly a man rose out of

the sage in front of him, a revolver in his hand.

For a fraction of a second, the two men faced each other before

either spoke.

"Who are you?"

Fraser's answer was to dive for the man's knees, just as a

football tackle does. They went down together, but it was the

Texan got up first. A second man was running toward him.