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Yet for all his debonair ease the man had an air of quiet

competence. His strong, bronzed face and neck, the set of his

shoulders, the light poise of him in the saddle, the steady

confidence of the gray eyes, all told her as much. She was aware

of a curiosity about what was hidden behind that stone-wall face

of his.

"You didn't finish telling me about that enemy in Texas," she

suggested suddenly.

"Oh, there ain't much to tell. He broke out from the pen, where I

had put him when I was a kid. He was a desperado wanted by the

authorities, so I arrested him again."

"Sounds easy."

"He made some trouble, shot up two or three men first." Fraser

lifted his hand absently.

"Is that scar on your hand where he shot you?" Arlie asked.

He looked up in quick surprise. "Now, how did you know that?"

"You were talking of the trouble he made and you looked at your

hand," she explained. "Where is he now? In the penitentiary?"

"No. He broke away before I got him there."