Charlie breathed again, though his fury at the miserable traitor was no less.
Fyles swung himself into the saddle. He bent down, and his voice was harshly commanding.
“Maybe I can’t touch you—now,” he cried. “But see you play the game to-night. You get your free run, only if I get the man I’m after. The rest of the gang don’t count a lot, nor the liquor. It’s the boss of the gang I need. If you’ve lied to me you’ll get short shrift.”
“You’ll get him all right.”
The half-breed grinned insolently up into the officer’s face. Then Fyles rode away, and, from the moment his horse began to move until it vanished down the cattle track, the muzzle of Charlie Bryant’s gun was covering him. His impulse was homicidal. To bring this man down might be the best means of nullifying the effect of Pete’s treachery. Then, in time, he remembered that there were others to replace him, and, in all probability, they knew already the story Pete had told their chief. There was one thing certain, however, that liquor must not be run to-night.
Urgent as was the moment Charlie had not yet finished here. The moment Stanley Fyles had disappeared he turned back to the half-breed. He saw Pete take his horse and lead it on to the grass some distance from the corral fence, and his gun held him covered. Then he watched him go back to the hut and carefully close the door. After that he watched him disturb his own footmarks and those of the policeman in the neighborhood of the doorway.
Charlie moved. The bushes parted, and he made his way into the open. The half-breed’s back was turned. Then, quite suddenly, a deep, harsh challenge rang out, breaking up entirely the sylvan peace.
“You damned traitor!”
With a leap the half-breed swung about. As he did so the gleaming barrel of his gun flashed with a sharp report. A bullet whistled through Charlie Bryant’s hat, another tore its way through the sleeve of his jacket. But before a third could find a vital spot in his body his own gun spat out certain death. The half-breed flung up his hands, and, with a sharp oath, his knees crumpled up under him, and he fell in a heap on the ground.
His face livid with passion, Charlie hurried across the intervening space. For one moment he stood gazing down upon the fallen man. Then he aimed a kick of spurning at the dead man’s body and moved away.