The saloon was deserted, except for Galway Mike and Mr. Murphy, who were closely engaged in conversation across the bar. In another half hour the place would be rushed; the stage would be in, and the usual evening's business would be opened up.  
Sam Fisher wasted no time on preliminaries. When he stepped inside the place it was with a drawn gun.
 
"Hands up, gents!" he said quietly. "Move quick, Mike!"
 
Two pairs of hands were swiftly elevated. Murphy saw in the bar mirror who had come in, and he stood petrified. Mike grimaced angrily.
 
"This ain't a holdup, is it?" he uttered. "Sure an all——"
 
"Nope, and you aren't in it, Mike," responded Fisher. "So long as you keep out of it, you're not in it; get the idea? All right. Better iron this gent, sheriff."
 
Tracy appeared, to the amazement of Mike. He produced handcuffs and stepped forward. From Murphy broke a string of oaths.
 
"Shut up!" ordered Fisher. "One more word out of you, Pincher Brady, and I'll drill your hand—should ha' done it yesterday. You're going to the capital for robbery and murder. Guess I'll take a look at his pockets, Tracy, if you don't mind."
 
Gyved and backed against the bar by Tracy, the prisoner was helpless. Sam Fisher stepped forward, removed his gun, and then swiftly searched him. He took from Murphy's breast pocket a number of papers, and hurriedly glanced over them.
 
"Most of these have bearings on my case, Tracy," he announced. "You'll have no objections if I take charge of 'em?"
 
"None whatever, Fisher," said the sheriff amiably.
 
At this response Murphy gave a violent start. Galway Mike, behind the bar, opened his mouth and started with a drooping jaw.
 
"Fisher!" stammered Murphy. "Who you callin' Fisher, sheriff? This here gent——"
 
"Is the sheriff o' Pecos County," said Sheriff Tracy. "And he's takin' my place here for a few days, gents. Now, Brady, march along!"
 
"I'll run along and see you off," said Sam Fisher languidly.
 
Tracy grinned. He was beginning to feel that he had chosen the wiser way out of a very bad dilemma, and was fully as anxious to depart from Pahrump as Sam Fisher was to have him gone. He had nothing to gain by staying, and much to lose.
 
"If I'd knowed you was Sam Fisher," said Murphy ruefully as they went out, "I wouldn't have monkeyed with you no ways."
 
"But you didn't, and you did," returned Fisher cheerfully. "And now you're in the soup, Pincher. But cheer up; you'll meet some friends of yours before long, as soon as I get time to round 'em up and send 'em along. Where are your hosses, Tracy?"
 
"I got a couple in the hotel corral."
 
Sight of the two men with their obvious prisoner quickly assembled a small crowd, which drifted along to the hotel. On the porch Sam Fisher seated Mr. Murphy in a chair and stood guard over him while Tracy went for the horses. The crowd eyed the two men and offered many comments and questions, to which Sam Fisher only replied with a smile. News of his identity having been spread by the ex-deputies of the posse, he was at length confronted by a direct question.
 
"Are you Fisher o' Pecos County?" demanded one of the crowd about the porch.
 
"C'rect the first shot, pardner," responded Sam Fisher.
 
"What ye doin' here?"
 
"Workin'," was the laconic retort. "Any objections?"
 
"You wait till Buck hears about this!" came in quick response. "Him and the Runnin' Dawg will certainly take down your hide. Hey, fellers! Let's run this Pecos sheriff out o' town! We don't want him here!"
 
There was a general, although by no means hearty, assent to the proposal. At this moment Tracy rode up with a spare horse. He grinned at Fisher and addressed the crowd.
 
"Gents, I've swore in Sheriff Fisher as special deputy and am leavin' him in charge of things here. Adios! Gimme the prisoner, Sam."
 
Fisher led the wilted Mr. Murphy to the waiting horse and assisted him into the saddle rather energetically. He waved the pair an ironic farewell.
 
"Hearty travelin' to you gents! See you later, Tracy."
 
The two rode down the street. Sam Fisher turned to the crowd surrounding him, and all the laughing geniality had fled out of his face.
 
"Boys," he said gravely, "I don't blame you for not wanting strangers butting into your affairs. I'm not going to do it for long—but while I'm doing it I aim to do it thorough and proper. Miguel Cervantes was murdered this morning; shot from ambush. I'm going to get the man who did it, and I'm going to send him to the pen. That's all. Now will some gent kindly direct me to where the nearest or next preacher resides?"
 
Dumfounded by this information, the crowd split before him. Somebody volunteered the desired direction, and Sam Fisher strode off to arrange for the funeral at the Lazy S on the following day, also for a coroner's jury. The latter gave him some trouble, but mention of his name and present position proved sufficient to obtain what he desired. Also, tale of the murder of Cervantes and the manner thereof was a tremendous shock. Sam Fisher was careful to make no mention of the murder, and merely shook his head to all queries.
 
It was seven o'clock that evening when Chuck Hansom, rider for the Running Dog, came into town from the north alone. Before he had ridden a block he was hailed eagerly and brought to a halt, where a small crowd gave him the astounding information about Sam Fisher. Now Chuck was a quick-witted rascal. He readily saw the general sentiment of puzzled wonder and resentment against Fisher's intrusion into Pahrump, and inside of two minutes he took prompt advantage of it.
 
"Listen here!" he cried out hotly. "This here guy ain't Sam Fisher at all. He's a feller named Robinson, pretending to be Fisher. He's the guy that murdered Mig Cervantes. Me and Buck seen him do it—seen him! You boys go git your guns and we'll 'tend to him."
 
There was a howl as his words became understood.
 
Meantime, from the south, two other men came riding into town on jaded, staggering beasts. They were two Running Dog riders who had been absent from the community for some weeks; so unkempt, so dust covered and weary were they that they arrived at Mike's Place without recognition.
 
Sliding out of the saddle with groans of relief, they staggered into Mike's Place, which was comfortably crowded. They were too fearfully tired with hard riding to note the startled silence which fell on the crowd as they were recognized.
 
"Liquor, Mike!" croaked the foremost, wiping his dust-rimmed eyes. "A drink! Buck been in town to-day?"
 
Galway Mike set out a bottle and made a grimace, but neither man noticed it. Both seized for the bottle at once, pouring drinks with shaking hands.
 
"Nope," said Mike at last. "Ain't been in."
 
"Gosh, that feels good goin' down!" rejoined the foremost man.............