CHAPTER XXIV.

OUT OF THE NEST.

The days added themselves into several weeks at Crow's Nest, in the course of which Jack Childress improved upon the good impression which he had made the exciting afternoon of his entry. Delores had learned her lesson and caused him no further trouble, under strict orders from Crowe himself. Twice the branded man had left the outlaw resort for trips down into the State. No one asked him where he had gone or why. One of these departures was after Duncan O'Hara, already well known as a rustler who had won his spurs, had loped into the haven of the lawless. If he had been surprised to find Childress there, he managed to conceal the fact, and had accepted readily the stranger's invitation to share the individual hut which he had rented from Crowe.

Childress had been away on some mysterious mission when Smiling Dick Murdock arrived with a small bunch of Lazy G stock and was welcomed as a proven companion in crime. It chanced that no one thought to tell him that the hard-hitting Childress had won his right to consider himself one of them.

The next afternoon following Murdock's arrival, the sergeant rode in, superbly mounted and without the nondescript horse on which he had departed. As the white flag was flying from the pole on the cliff behind the ranch at the entrance gap, his arrival had caused no excitement in the Nest and did not delay a single dance at the main establishment. For a couple of hours, Childress was busy within his own cabin. When he went over to the saloon-dance-hall, after giving his new mount a careful grooming, he saw a strange horse with dropped rein standing out front--a strange horse, lathered from hard riding, yet an animal which he thought he had seen before. Apprehension gripped him, hastening his stride into the almost deserted barroom and on to the dance floor beyond.

And there, sure enough, she was!

Flame of Fire Weed--little Flame with the freckle-bridged nose--with her back up against the tin-piano and a gun in her hand.

Childress paused just a moment to take stock of the surprising situation. Plastered against the wall were the women "regulars," the harpies of the outlaw camp; the two who composed the orchestra, the bartender and several outlaw "guests."

But the figure who particularly claimed Childress' attention was the bow-legged one of Smiling Dick Murdock, evidently under the influence of hooch, who stood confronting the girl who was at bay.

"So, my little firecracker, got some sense when her sweetie rode away--when her sweetie rode away," he was saying, his famous smile a triumphant leer. "Couldn't stand the thought of separation, could you, Bernie dear?" He lurched toward her.

"Stand back!" she cried. "Stand back or I'll separate you from life! You know I didn't follow you here, you horse thief."

Murdock's laugh set Childress' blood on fire, but, his presence in the doorway as yet unnoticed, he held in for the moment.

"That's the girl--that's the red-head!" chortled Murdock. "Scratch and claw to the very end. Over on the ranch, t'other side of the line I was willing to give you the benefit of all the clergy you could round up. Now that you've followed me here to Crow's Nest, we'll dispense with the ceremony. Come hither, that me tender arms may crush you to me manly breast. You're mine----"

"Quite enough of that, Murdock!" The command from Childress gained stress from its surprise. He strode out on the floor, ready to do battle for the only woman he had ever loved. Why she was there, evidently unattended, in this ribald heart of the outlaw camp, he did not know. He was sure, however, that she had not followed her father's ranch foreman from any heart impulse. He feared, indeed, that she had come out of anxiety over himself, to bring him warning of impending danger or to cast her lot with his in the solving of the rustling mystery, the answer to which already was in his keeping.

Murdock spun half around at the sound of Childress' voice. His instant recognition showed in the flush of hate that suffused his face. For a moment he was speechless.

"You--you here?" he cried when he had thrown off his tongue the shackles of surprise.

"Yes, he's here!" shrilled the girl. "I came to meet him. With Jack and no one else I'll go away."

Murdock, in his self-satisfied, alcoholic vanity, had paid small attention to Flame's automatic. But now he drew and with lightning speed threw down upon the sergeant, already advancing upon him. The report of his Colt roared like a cannon in the low roofed room. But his wonted skill was lacking. The bullet caressed Childress' cheek, tingled the tip of his ear and thudded into one of the timbers that framed the doorway.

Next second Childress' gun spoke. This time there was no miss. Murdock clutched at his breast, spun half around and crumpled upon the calk splintered floor.

At once the sergeant gained the side of the girl who had dared so much in his behalf. His revolver waved both threat and promise to the humans who plastered the walls. It advised them to hold their places and the advice was well understood.

To get Flame out of the place was his first thought and the regular exit, through the bar, seemed too fraught with danger. Behind the piano was an open window. To this he waved Flame and covered her exit. Then he dived after her, just as Murdock recovered sufficiently from lead shock to gain a sitting posture.

"After him, boys," Childress heard the cry. "He's an officer--a spy. The brand's a fake."

With his arm half supporting the girl, he hurried her through the timber of the "park" and gained the cabin which he had rented, in the lean-to of which was the wonder horse which he had brought back to camp from his latest ride to the south. For the moment they had respite, but the sergeant knew that it only was for the moment. Murdock would be able to convince the outlaws in camp that Crowe had made a mistake in taking him in. Just how much the handsome crook knew of the truth was problematical, but the mere fact that Childress had taken up arms in defence of the daughter of a rancher as well known as Sam Gallegher would be enough. They two were in for a battle--one in which no quarter would be given. That a woman was involved was her own look out; the outlaws would argue that she should not have butted into the enemy's country. Their lives, liberty and the integrity of this last haven of refuge were at stake. Nothing else would count.

"Why did you come, Flame?" he asked in the moment that was left them before the siege would begin.

"Day before yesterday, out on the range, Murdock played all his trumps, demanding that I run away with him," she returned, leaning close to him, as if the contact assured protection. "Roper and Rust helped me save myself. They're on the level, those busters, despite what they once tried to do to you. From them I learned that Murdock knew that in some way you were allied with the law. I feared that he was coming here when he shook the ranch with a small herd of dad's blacks. I was--was afraid for you and came to warn you. Found you'd ridden south and stumbled into Murdock before I could take the back track."

"Gamest little pal a man ever had--especially an undeserving, ungainly old roughneck like me," he murmured.

"You're not any of that, Jack," she whispered back. There were none near enough to hear, so the only excuse for the whisper must have been that it seemed more appropriate to the sentiment of the moment.

"We're in a tight hole, Flame," he said with more emotion than his voice usually carried. "Likely we'll get out. Luck ought to be with us. But if worst comes, I want you to know that I love you and that you're the first woman I ever said that to, you dearest of firebrands!"

Then came the first shot of the offence, a rifle bullet that flattened itself against the stout door. Childress threw the blankets from his bunk.

"The base logs of the cabin are thicker," he said. "Lay down as close to the wall as possible and be, out of the way of stray bullets. This cabin was built for defence, even if not for our sort of defenders. If we can stave them off until dark, we'll make a run for it."

"But I want to help," she protested.

"You can help best by keeping out of danger. There's just one rifle and our revolvers are good only for close quarters. Let me try my best----"

A patter of shots thudding into the walls of the cabin interrupted with the word that the fight was on in earnest. One stray bullet found a loophole and crashed against the opposite wall.

"Please, precious o' mine!" Gently he urged her to the blankets on the floor, where she lay under the protection of the heavy foundation logs.

For once Flame obeyed. From somewhere in the mystic maze of memory came comforting thought. Someone, perhaps a poet, had written and she had read that a woman is greatly loved to whom a man speaks with tenderness at a time of desperate peril. Their peril was, to say the least, desperate. And her Jack had spoken with more tenderness than she ever expected to hear him express. She thrilled with love for him, as he picked up the Winchester, which he had stood beside the door on his return from the trip south. When he had made certain that the magazine held its limit of cartridges, he sent some random shots from several of the loopholes.

Calm as was Childress externally, he felt within the sick fear of a child, because he knew himself to be but inadequate protection for the girl who shared the grave peril with him. But this feeling he was able to banish by activity with the rifle; and when that grew heated, with his revolver.

"Got one of 'em that time!" he chuckled after some minutes of random firing. "Guess that'll tell the bunch not to rush this shack; at least not until after dark, and then we won't be here for the reception."

He did not tell her that "one of 'em" had got him through the shoulder, a wound that was painful but not crippling.

"But how can we both get away?" she asked, handing him a rifle she had been reloading. "I left my horse down at the main dive."

"I have another wonder horse in the lean-to back of the cabin," he said. "The beast won't consider you extra weight, little Flame. As soon as it's dark, we'll bust out and give them a run for their money, my life and something more than life for you."

There came a lull in the firing and he slipped out through the back door to saddle the magnificent piece of horseflesh which he had acquired somewhere to the south. The girl followed him, noticed the difficulty he had swinging the heavy cow saddle into place, and then saw the crimson stain upon his shirt between collar-bone and shoulder.

"They hit you," she whispered. "Let me see--how bad."

He waved her back.

"Oh, Jack, if anything should happen to you after--after this afternoon, I don't want to live." This, he realized, was the offering of excess emotion, but he fully appreciated it.

"Nothing's going to happen--at least nothing has happened that a few days and a minister won't remedy," he reassured her.

Fortunately for them the season of long Western twilights had not yet arrived. Night fairly crashed down upon them. An hour later he fired from each of the loopholes in turn, then led her to the improvised stable.

"Just one, before we see whether old lady Fate is with or against us," he said.

She came into his arms without the slightest pressure and with no maidenly excuse that might have sprung to her lips had the situation been less vivid. For one long moment their lips were together. Then he swung into the saddle, perched on the cantle, and, lifting her bodily, placed her in front of him. According to all reasonable expectations, bullets of protest would come from behind. With a word to the brave horse, the dash out of Crow's Nest was on.