CHAPTER 1

      Wilfred Tuttle stood in the open door of his store and watched the two riders he could see in the distance, approaching his store. As his eyes were no longer as sharp as they used to be when he was a younger man, he squinted in an effort to identify the two men. Tuttle had operated his little store, perched on the bank of the Brazos River, for more than twenty years, and he had seen his share of good and bad men. At this particular time, he hoped the two approaching now were a better sort than the two who had left his store that morning. At least, he was sure they weren’t the same two, for those men were following the river trail down the Brazos. The riders he was looking at now were traveling from the west to intercept the river trail.

      After a few moments more, his scraggly whiskers parted to make room for a grin when he recognized the familiar form of Texas Ranger Ben Savage. The fellow with him, riding one of those horses called a Palouse, was still unfamiliar to him. He walked on out to the porch to wait for them. “Howdy, Ben,” Tuttle sang out when he pulled up at the hitching rail and dismounted. He had grown to like the broad-shouldered, easygoing Ranger in the last twelve years since Ben had made his first visit to his store. “Who you got with you?” Tuttle asked.

      “Howdy, Wilfred,” Ben responded. “This is Ranger Billy Turner. He’s come down from Fort Worth.” They tied their horses and stepped up on the porch.

      “Howdy, Billy,” Tuttle said. “Welcome to my store.” Turning back to Ben, he asked, “You wouldn’t happen to be lookin’ fer two mangy-lookin’ saddle tramps ridin’ the down-river trail, would ya?”

      “As a matter of fact,” Ben answered. “When did they leave here?”

      “This mornin’,” Tuttle said. “About eight-thirty I’d say, and I was glad to see ’em go. Who are they?”

      “They’re stagecoach bandits,” Ben answered. He paused before going on. “Billy, here, came down from Fort Worth to give us a hand in catchin’ up with ’em.”

      “Pleased