"The viper stung me!" cried Merle, looking up into the detective's face. "She was in the old nest here waiting for me and gave me the dagger. Don't let her get away, Riggs. Catch and take her to Belle Demona. Let the tigress of Ranch Robin finish her career."
The detective threw a hasty glance around but did not see Stareyes.
He picked Merle up and carried him from the sheepshed.
"Where have you been cut?" he asked.
"In the back—to death," came from the white lips. "Now, if they want me, they will have to hunt me under the sod of Australia."
"If who want you, Merle?"
"Old Broadbrim, the American ferret. But I've escaped him anyhow!"
"You're not dead yet. You'll live to help us drive off Blacklocks and his horde."
The detective now examined Merle's wound by lantern light, and said that it was not dangerous.
The blade had been turned aside by a bit of steel beneath the man's garments, and Merle was still worth a dozen dead men.