cond hummed through the door and
budded into the log wall. Buell jumped back into the room. His face
worked, his breath hissed between his teeth, as with trembling hand
he examined the front of his coat. A big bullet had torn through both
lapels.

Bill stuck his pudgy finger in the hole. "The second bullet made thet.
It was from old Hiram's gun--a 45-90!"

"Bent an' Leslie! My God! They're shootin' to kill!" cried Buell.

"I should smile," replied Herky-Jerky.

Bud was peeping out through a chink between the logs. "I got their
smoke," he said; "look, Bill, up the slope. They're too fur off, but we
may as well send up respects." With that he aimed his revolver through
the narrow crack and deliberately shot six times. The reports clapped
like thunder, the smoke from burnt powder and the smell of brimstone
filled the room. By way of reply old Hiram's rifle boomed out twice, and
two heavy slugs crashed through the roof, sending down a shower of dust
and bits of decayed wood.

"Thet's jist to show what a 45-90 can do," remarked Bill.

Bud reloaded his weapon while Bill shot several times. Herky-Jerky
had his gun in hand, but contented himself with peering from different
chinks between the logs. I hid behind the wide stone fireplace, and
though I felt pretty safe from flying bullets, I began to feel the icy
grip of fear. I had seen too much of these men in excitement, and knew
if circumstances so brought it about there might come a moment when
my life would not be worth a pin. They were all sober now, and deadly
quiet. Buell showed the greatest alarm, though he had begun to settle
down to what looked like fight. Herky was more fearless than any of
them, and cooler even than Bill. All at once I missed the Mexican. If
he had not slipped out of the room he had hidden under the brush of the
fallen loft or in a pile of blankets. But the room was smoky, and it was
hard for me to be certain.

Some time passed with no shots and with no movement inside the cabin.
Slowly the blue smoke wafted out of the door. The sunlight danced in
gleams through the holes in the ragged roof. There was a pleasant swish
of pine branches against the cabin.

"Listen," whispered Bud, hoarsely. "I heerd a pony snort."

Then the rapid beat of hard hoofs on the trail was followed by several
shots from the hillside. Soon the clatter of hoofs died away in the
distance.

"Who was thet?" asked three of Buell's men in unison.

"Take it from me, Greas