It was his own room! He remembered perfectly choosing it and moving in his belongings the day before he left; and as he stared curiously around he could not see that a single one of them had been touched. There were his trunks just as they had come from Texas. His bureau stood between the windows, and on it lay a pair of brushes and the few odds and ends he had left there when he enlisted. A pair of chaps and a well-worn Stetson hung near the door, and he had just stepped over to make sure they were actually the ones he had left behind when Miss Thorne, who had been talking in the living-room with Lynch, appeared suddenly on the threshold. As their glances met she drew herself up a little, and a curious expression came into her eyes. Her lips parted impulsively, but when, after a momentary hesitation, she spoke, Buck had an impression that something quite different had been on the tip of her tongue an instant before. "He'd better have the doctor at once, don't you think?" she said briefly. Buck nodded. "Yes, ma'am, he ought. I've done the best I could, and the chances are he'll get along all right; but a regular doctor ought to look him over as soon as possible." "I thought so. I've just told Tex to send a man to town at once and wire Dr. Blanchard, who lives about twelve miles up the line. It'll take him three or four hours to ride over, but there's no one nearer." "I wish you'd let me go," said Stratton impulsively. "I've got to return the horse I borrowed and get blankets and some things I left at the store. There's really nothing more I can do for Bemis by hanging around." Her brows crinkled doubtfully. "Well, if you're sure--I suppose there's no reason why you shouldn't. Tell Tex I said you were to go. He'll give you the directions. Only you'll have to hurry." With a murmured word of thanks, Buck snatched up his hat and hastened into the living-room. As he passed the big table he was aware of a door at the farther end opening, but he did not turn his head. An instant later, as he was in the act of springing off the porch, he heard a woman's voice behind him, soft, low, and a little shaken. "What is it, Mary? What's happened? You don't mean to tell me that--that another man's been shot." Buck's eyes widened, but he did not pause. "That's the aunt, I reckon," he muttered, as he sped down the slope. His lips straightened. "Another! Holy cats! What the devil am I up against, anyhow? A murder syndicate?" CHAPTER VIII THE HOODOO OUTFIT Pop Daggett hesitated and glanced uneasily toward the door. "I warned yuh, didn't I, the Shoe-Bar was a hoodoo outfit?" he evaded. Stratton shook some tobacco into a cigarette-paper and jerked the draw-string with his teeth. "Sure you did, but that's not the question," he persisted. "I asked you if any other punchers had met up with--accidents out there lately." The old man continued to cock an eye on the store entrance.