"Stand up," he ordered.
The big fellow picked himself up and stood against the wall with the blood streaming down his right arm. Still he said nothing and his keen eyes darted from Calder to Whistling Dan.
"Give me a strip of that old shirt over there, will you, Tex?" said
Dan, "an' keep him covered while I tie up his arm."
Before Calder could move, old Daniels appeared at the door, a heavy Colt in his hand. For a moment he stood dumbfounded, but then, with a cry, jerked up his gun—a quick movement, but a fraction of a second too slow, for the hand of Dan darted out and his knuckles struck the wrist of the old cattleman. The Colt rattled on the floor. He lunged after his weapon, but the voice of Buck stopped him short.
"The game's up, Dad," he growled, "that older feller is Tex Calder."
The name, like a blow in the face, straightened old Daniels and left him white and blinking. Whistling Dan turned his back on the father and deftly bound up the lacerated arm of Buck.
"In the name o' God, Buck," moaned Sam, "what you been tryin' to do in here?"
"What you'd do if you had the guts for it. That's Tex Calder an' this is Dan Barry. They're on the trail of big Jim. I wanted to put 'em off that trail."
"Look here," said Calder, "how'd you know us?"
"I've said my little say," said Buck sullenly, "an' you'll get no more out of me between here an' any hell you can take me to."