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The trader started suddenly, his face blanching.

"Where does your train hail from?" he asked.

"From the middle West, sir. We are going from the West to the West." The trader balanced two sacks of Salt Lake flour on his shoulders, and grasping the smaller package of peaches, strode out hurriedly toward the wagon near which Captain Ranger was standing, impatient to be gone.

"These purchases are for the lady, sir. Where will you have them dumped?"

"Any place where there's room, and don't let any grass grow under your feet!"

"The lady tells me your name is Ranger, sir."

"Yes. What of it?"

"Will you walk with me a little way ahead of the wagons? I have something important to say to you alone."

"We are scarce of drivers," replied the Captain, hesitating. "Two of my men are out hunting."

"I can drive," exclaimed Jean, reaching for the whip, which she handled with the skill of a freighter, finishing her flourishes with a series of snaps at the end of a deerskin cracker, like the explosion of a bunch of fire-crackers.

"If we'll take this cut-offf we'll come out a mile or more ahead of the wagons," said the trader. "Then we can rest by the roadside till they catch up."

The Captain strode by his side in silence.

"Don't you know me, John?" asked the stranger, grasping him by the arm, and speaking in a hoarse whisper.

Captain Ranger eyed him earnestly, his cheeks paling.

"Can it be possible that you are—Joe?" he asked, seizing his hand with a vise-like grip.

"I am indeed your brother Joe,—an outlaw, now and always."

"No, you are not an outlaw; the fellow over whom