McGlory was no longer anxious to "get the lay of the land" before butting into Matt's argument with Newt Prebbles. In an instant he jumped for the door and stood peering into the hut.
The scene before him was difficult to comprehend. A chair had been overturned, and there was a form—no, two forms—lying on the floor beside it. Then, too, there was some one else, a man, bending over one of the forms.
The dark interior of the shack was not favorable to a clear survey of the scene by eyes but recently turned from the glaring sunshine.
McGlory, however, caught one detail of the picture that wrenched a sharp cry from his lips.
"Murgatroyd!" he shouted.
The bent form lifted itself with catlike quickness, Crack! The sharp note of a revolver rattled through the narrow room, followed by a warning shout in a well-known voice:
"Look out, Joe! It's Murgatroyd, and he's in a killing mood!"
Matt was in the room, bound and helpless. That was the next detail that flashed before the eyes of McGlory.
Murgatroyd's shot had missed. Mad with rage, he was making ready to fire again.
Blindly, desperately, the cowboy flung himself across the room. Pard Matt was there, and in danger. Think of himself, McGlory would not.