"Quite enough of that, Murdock!" The command from Childress gained stress from its surprise. He strode out on the floor, ready to do battle for the only woman he had ever loved. Why she was there, evidently unattended, in this ribald heart of the outlaw camp, he did not know. He was sure, however, that she had not followed her father's ranch foreman from any heart impulse. He feared, indeed, that she had come out of anxiety over himself, to bring him warning of impending danger or to cast her lot with his in the solving of the rustling mystery, the answer to which already was in his keeping.
Murdock spun half around at the sound of Childress' voice. His instant recognition showed in the flush of hate that suffused his face. For a moment he was speechless.
"You—you here?" he cried when he had thrown off his tongue the shackles of surprise.
"Yes, he's here!" shrilled the girl. "I came to meet him. With Jack and no one else I'll go away."
Murdock, in his self-satisfied, alcoholic vanity, had paid small attention to Flame's automatic. But now he drew and with lightning speed threw down upon the sergeant, already advancing upon him. The report of his Colt roared like a cannon in the low roofed room. But his wonted skill was lacking. The bullet caressed Childress' cheek, tingled the tip of his ear and thudded into one of the timbers that framed the doorway.
Next second Childress' gun spoke. This time there was no miss. Murdock clutched at his breast, spun half around and crumpled upon the calk splintered floor.
At once the sergeant gained the side of the girl who had dared so much in his behalf. His revolver waved both threat and promise to the humans who plastered the walls. It advised them to hold their places and the advice was well understood.
To get Flame out of the place was his first thought and the regular exit, through the bar, seemed too fraught with danger. Behind the piano was an open window. To this he waved Flame and covered her exit. Then he dived after her, just as Murdock recovered sufficiently from lead shock to gain a sitting posture.
"After him, boys," Childress heard the cry. "He's an officer—a spy. The brand's a fake."
With his arm half supporting the girl, he hurried her through the timber of the "park" and gained the cabin which he had rented, in the lean-to of which was the wonder horse which he had brought back to camp from his latest ride to the south. For the moment they had respite, but the sergeant knew that it only was for the moment. Murdock would be able to convince the outlaws in camp that Crowe had made a mistake in taking him in. Just how much the handsome crook knew of the truth was problematical, but the mere fact that Childress had taken up arms in defence of the daughter of a rancher as well known as Sam Gallegher would be enough. They two were in for a battle—one in which no quarter would be given. That a woman was involved was her own look out; the outlaws would argue that she should not have butted into the enemy's country. Their lives, liberty and the integrity of this last haven of refuge were at stake. Nothing else would count.