“How else, you locoed lady-charmer?  It’s a wonder I didn’t have to tell you that.”

“Tell me about it.”

Steele related a circumstance differing little from other attempts at his life, and concluded by saying that Snecker was a good runner if he was not a good shot.

I finished the bandaging and stood off, admiring Steele’s magnificent shoulders.  I noted, too, on the fine white skin more than one scar made by bullets.  I got an impression that his strength and vitality were like his spirit—­unconquerable!

“So you knew it was Bill Snecker’s son?” I asked when I had told him about finding the rustler.

“Sure.  Jim Hoden pointed him out to me yesterday.  Both the Sneckers are in town.  From now on we’re going to be busy, Russ.”

“It can’t come too soon for me,” I replied.  “Shall I chuck my job?  Come out from behind these cowboy togs?”

“Not yet.  We need proof, Russ.  We’ve got to be able to prove things.  Hang on at the ranch yet awhile.”

“This Bo Snecker was scared stiff till he recognized Wright.  Isn’t that proof?”

“No, that’s nothing.  We’ve got to catch Sampson and Wright red-handed.”

“I don’t like the idea of you trailing along alone,” I protested.  “Remember what Neal told me.  I’m to kick.  It’s time for me to hang round with a couple of guns.  You’ll never use one.”

“The hell I won’t,” he retorted, with a dark glance of passion.  I was surprised that my remark had angered him.  “You fellows are all wrong.  I know when to throw a gun.  You ought to remember that Rangers have a bad name for wanting to shoot.  And I’m afraid it’s deserved.”

“Did you shoot at Snecker?” I queried.

“I could have got him in the back.  But that wouldn’t do.  I shot three times at his legs—­tried to let him down.  I’d have made him tell everything he knew, but he ran.  He was too fast for me.”

“Shooting at his legs!  No wonder he ran.  He savvied your game all right.  It’s funny, Vaughn, how these rustlers and gunmen don’t mind being killed.  But to cripple them, rope them, jail them—­that’s hell to them!  Well, I’m to go on, up at the ranch, falling further in love with that sweet kid instead of coming out straight to face things with you?”

Steele had to laugh, yet he was more thoughtful of my insistence.

“Russ, you think you have patience, but you don’t know what patience is.  I won’t be hurried on this job.  But I’ll tell you what:  I’ll hang under cover most of the time when you’re not close to me.  See?  That can be managed.  I’ll watch for you when you come in town.  We’ll go in the same places.  And in case I get busy you can stand by and trail along after me.  That satisfy you?”

“Fine!” I said, both delighted and relieved.  “Well, I’ll have to rustle back now to tell Miss Sampson you’re all right.”

Steele had about finished pulling on a clean shirt, exercising care not to disarrange the bandages; and he stopped short to turn squarely and look at me with hungry eyes.