“Don’t move.  You’re surrounded,” a voice answered.

A rope snaked forward and descended over the ranger’s head, to be jerked tight, with a suddenness that sent a pain like a knife thrust through the wounded shoulder.  The instinct for self-preservation was already at work in him.  He fought his left arm free from the rope that pressed it to his side, and dived toward the figure at the end of the rope.  Even as he plunged, he found time to be surprised that no revolver shot echoed through the night, and to know that the reason was because his enemies preferred to do their work in silence.

The man upon whom he leaped gave a startled oath and stumbled backward over a root.

Fraser, his hand already upon the man’s throat, went down too.  Upon him charged men from all directions.  In the shadows, they must have hampered each other, for the ranger, despite his wound—­ his shoulder was screaming with pain—­ got to his knees, and slowly from his knees to his feet, shaking the clinging bodies from him.

Wrenching his other hand from under the rope, he fought them back as a hurt grizzly does the wolf pack gathered for the kill.  None but a very powerful man could ever have reached his feet.  None less agile and sinewy than a panther could have beaten them back as at first he did.  They fought in grim silence, yet the grove was full of the sounds of battle.  The heavy breathing, the beat of shifting feet, the soft impact of flesh striking flesh, the thud of falling bodies—­ of these the air was vocal.  Yet, save for the gasps of sudden pain, no man broke silence save once.

“The snake’ll get away yet!” a hoarse voice cried, not loudly, but with an emphasis that indicated strong conviction.

Impossible as it seemed, the ranger might have done it but for an accident.  In the struggle, the rope had slipped to a point just below his knees.  Fighting his way down the hill, foot by foot, the Texan felt the rope tighten.  One of his attackers flung himself against his chest and he was tripped.  The pack was on him again.  Here there was more light, and though for a time the mass swayed back and forth, at last they hammered him down by main strength.  He was bound hand and foot, and dragged back to the grove.

They faced their victim, panting deeply from their exertions.  Fraser looked round upon the circle of distorted faces, and stopped at one.  Seen now, with the fury and malignancy of its triumph painted upon it, the face was one to bring bad dreams.

The lieutenant, his chest still laboring heavily, racked with the torture of his torn shoulder, looked into that face out of the only calm eyes in the group.

“So it’s you, Struve?”

“Yes, it’s me—­ me and my friends.”

“I’ve been looking for you high and low.”

“Well, you’ve found me,” came the immediate exultant answer.

“I reckon I’m indebted to you for this.”  Fraser moved his shoulder slightly.