"There's one, Barney!" he murmured, as he rode away. "Now, for Zeb Cross!"
Night had fallen before the outlaw reached his destination. Riding boldly to the door, he banged on it with his gun butt.
"You?" gasped the ranchman, as he beheld the red-bearded desperado.
But the bark of a pistol was his only answer.
Never heeding the cowboys who rushed to learn the cause of the shot, Rogers raced to the horse corral, hastily cut out one of the ponies, and was away before the people on the ranch had realized what had happened.
"That makes two," he chuckled, grimly. "I only hope Jerry Hooper is at home."
Unfortunately for the man, Red found him returning from a tour of inspection of his cattle at noon the next day.
Recognizing the outlaw from afar, Hooper tried to race away from him. But in vain.
"Now, I can face Barney," exclaimed Rogers, setting his pony toward the Old Stockade.
As the reports of the murders were received, people who had ever been concerned in any trouble with Rogers or Landon feared for their lives, and a veritable reign of terror seized the region.