"Now, I'll sure have to get you!" Murdock was white about the lips and blue about the nose, as men get when suddenly confronted with a past they had thought forgotten.
"Now's your chance," said Childress.
"If you'd left Flame alone——" began the foreman.
"Here come the boys, tell them to put the brand as neatly as they can. Long as these ropes are about me, I've as much chance as that bogged steer——"
"Don't call yourself names," inserted Murdock.
Then interruption came from the two cheerful punchers who had the iron red hot. There was a moment of fortune for Childress, because Rust and Roper were scrapping among themselves. The question was which one could do the best and most artistic job upon the forehead of the captive.
Before this matter of artistry was settled, the clatter of a speeding horse struck their startled ears. All turned to look down the gulch as a mounted figure came into view. There were muttered exclamations from the Lazy G trio when they recognized the rider as Flame Gallegher.
She pulled up her horse at the edge of the group, and for a moment gazed about her with an incredulous expression.
"What is the meaning of this, Dick Murdock?" she at last demanded, a note of authority in her voice.
"We're just having a little fun with this here hawse thief," mumbled Murdock lamely.