Both riders wheeled their mounts sharply and were ready to run and shoot back.

Not more than a hundred paces separated them.

They stood then for a moment watching each other.
"Mawnin', stranger," called the man, dropping his hand from his hip.
"Howdy," replied Duane, shortly.
They rode toward each other, closing half the gap, then they halted again.
"I seen you ain't no ranger," called the rider, "an' shore I ain't none." He laughed loudly, as if he had made a joke.
"How'd you know I wasn't a ranger ?" asked Duane, curiously.

Somehow he had instantly divined that his horseman was no officer, or even a rancher trailing stolen stock.
"Wal," said the fellow, starting his horse forward at a walk, "a ranger'd never git ready to run the other way from one man." He laughed again.

He was small and wiry, slouchy of attire, and armed to the teeth, and he bestrode a fine bay horse.