“Nash, you blockhead!”

“Nash!” cried a relieved voice, “come in; confound you.  I thought—­no matter what I thought.  Come in!”

Nash opened the door and went up the stairs.  The deputy met him, clad in a bathrobe and carrying a lamp.  Under the bathrobe he was fully dressed.

“Thought your game was called, eh?” grinned the cattleman.

“Sure.  I had a tidy little thing in black-jack running and was pulling in the iron boys, one after another.  Why didn’t you tip me off?  You could have sat in with us.”

“Nope; I’m here on business.”

“Let’s have it.”

He led the way into a back room and placed the lamp on a table littered with cards and a black bottle looming in the centre.

“Drink?”

“Nope.  I said I came on business.”

“What kind?”

“Bard.”

“I thought so.”

“I want a posse.”

“What’s he done?”

“Killed Calamity Ben at Drew’s place, started a fire that near burned the house, and lifted Duffy’s hoss.”

Glendin whistled softly.

“Nice little start.”

“Sure, and it’s just a beginnin’ for this Bard.”

“I’ll go out to Drew’s place and see what he’s done.”

“And then start after him with a gang?”

“Sure.”

“By that time he’ll be a thousand miles away.”

“Well?”

“I’m running this little party.  Let me get a gang together.  You can swear ’em in and put me in charge.  I’ll guarantee to get him before morning.”

Glendin shook his head.

“It ain’t legal, Steve.  You know that.”

“The hell with legality.”

“That’s what you say; but I got to hold my job.”

“You’ll do your part by goin’ to Drew’s place with Doc Young.  He’ll be here with Shorty Kilrain in a minute.”

“And let you go after Bard?”

“Right.”

“Far’s I know, you may jest shoot him down and then come back and say you done it because he resisted arrest.”

“Well?”

“You admit that’s what you want, Steve?”

“Absolute.”

“Well, partner, it can’t be done.  That ain’t apprehendin’ a man.  It’s jest plain murder.”

“D’you think you could ever catch that bird alive?”

“Dunno, I’d try.”

“Never in a thousand years.”

“He don’t know the country.  He’ll travel in a circle and I’ll ride him down.”

“He’s got somebody with him that knows the country better’n you or me.”

“Who?”

The face of Nash twisted into an ugly grimace.

“Sally Fortune.”

“The hell!”

“It is; but it’s true.”

“It ain’t possible.  Sally ain’t the kind to make a fool of herself about any man, let alone a gun-fighter.”

“That’s what I thought, but I seen her back up this Bard ag’in’ a roomful of men.  And she’ll keep on backin’ him till he’s got his toes turned up.”