"Nothing's likely to happen to a branded man," he reassured her. "By night my forehead will wear what seems to the casual observer to be a real scar."
"But the Crow's Nest!" she cried. "I wish you weren't going into that brimming cup of iniquity alone. Suppose we ride back to the ranch and tell your plan to dad. He'll send Murdock or one of our trusty busters to back you up."
Childress grinned. "My dear——" He caught his breath at the daring phrase of endearment which had popped out so unexpectedly; but she seemed not to have noticed. "Flame, I wouldn't ride into hell brushing stirrups with Murdock. If you'll let me adjust that saddle for you—fix whatever's wrong with the leather, I'll be on the way along the primrose path."
"There's nothing wrong with the saddle, Jack." Her turn for confession had come and she met it gallantly—without a blush. "I slipped a cinch just to have an excuse for laying in wait for you, hoping you'd come this way."
Almost at this moment did he tell her something that he was beginning to feel sure eventually and inevitably would be told; but he held his tongue.
"You guessed the right pass," he parried the danger point. "Take good care of Silver, won't you, Flame?" He swung into the saddle and cantered down into the draw where soon he would leave the land of the beaver for that of the eagle.
"Crow's Nest," Flame murmured almost in a wail. "Crow's Nest! Why did he wish such a task on himself?"
CHAPTER XXI.
THE NEST OF THE CROW.
In the heart of the bad lands, where the Bitter Root Mountain range begins, lies the nest of the crow, one of the few remaining hide-outs which the taming West affords. It is easy of access once you know the trail whether you come from the prosperous Montana towns to the south or from the Canadian province to the north. And it is safe enough to all who have won their spurs at outlawry in either direction. A single road leads to it; although there are several trails away from it, available to those who are "in the know" and forced to make a sudden get-away.