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Briscoe was hardly prepared for the change which came over the

Texan at mention of that name. The prominent eyes stared, and a

deep, apoplectic flush ran over the scarred face. The hand that

caught at the wall trembled with excitement.

"You mean Steve Fraser--Fraser of the Rangers!" he gasped.

"That's what I'm not sure of. I got to milling it over after I

left him, and it come to me I'd seen him or his picture before.

You still got that magazine with the article about him?"

"Yes."

"I looked it over hurriedly. Let me see his picture again, and

I'll tell you if it's the same man."

"It's in the other room."

"Get it."

Struve presently returned with the magazine, and, opening it,

pointed to a photograph of a young officer in uniform, with the

caption underneath:

LIEUTENANT STEPHEN FRASER OF THE TEXAS RANGERS

Who, single-handed, ran down and brought to justice the worst

gang of outlaws known in recent years.

"It's the same man," Briscoe announced.

The escaped convict's mouth set in a cruel line.