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"Wrong guess. My name is Larry Neill. I'm from the Panhandle and

I've never been in this part of the country till two days ago."

"You may have a dozen names. We don't care what you call

yourself. Of course you would deny being the man we're after. But

that don't go with us."

"All right. Take me back to Fort Lincoln, or take me to the

prison officials. They will tell you whether I am the man."

The leader of the party pounced on his slip. "Who mentioned

prison? Who told you we wanted an escaped prisoner?"

"He's give himself away," triumphed the one edged Tom. "I guess

that clinches it. He's riding Maloney's hawss. He's wounded; so's

the man we want. He answers the description--gray eyes, tall,

slim, muscular. Same gun--automatic Colt. Tell you there's

nothin' to it, Duffield."

"If you're not Kinney, how come you with this hawss? He stole it

from a barn in Fort Lincoln last night. That's known," said the

leader, Duffield.