atient with these doomed men
whom he never had seen.

Something was stirring on the ranch house roof and glittered
occasionally in the moonlight. The cattlemen watched it intently. It was
the head of an axe, forcing its way through from beneath. The cattlemen
laughed. When the wielded axe had formed a sufficient opening, the head
and shoulders of a man appeared in it, and his hands followed,
supporting a bucket of water. Twenty of the attackers' rifles were
directed toward the roof, but at an order from Mart Cooley they were
lowered. Mart raised his rifle, fired a single shot, and the man's
figure disappeared through the opening, the bucket falling from his
hands and pitching down over the edge of the roof.

[Illustration: THE MAN'S FIGURE DISAPPEARED THROUGH THE OPENING, THE
BUCKET FALLING FROM HIS HANDS]

"Now they know what kind o' shootin' t' expect when they come out," said
Mart.

So Whitey knew why Mart alone had fired. It was to add to the fears of
the sheepmen--if that could be done. Anyway, no other man appeared at
the opening in the roof.

Whitey watched the flames creep up and down the roof, growing higher as
they stole along. He saw them flicker over the eaves, lap the walls of
the house, and finally clasp it like a red, flaring robe. But Whitey did
not think of the fire in those terms, but as a thing of horror, of
death.

You, who have followed the adventures of Whitey, know that he had been
in situations in which he was threatened with death. But then he had
been upheld by excitement; by the necessity of protecting himself. And
he had even faced death, but then he had come on it unexpectedly, in the
case of the hanging train robbers. This was a different matter; waiting
to see men burned out and shot down. And it is small wonder that
Whitey's nerves quivered, that the burning house began to dance before
his eyes, and that he buried his face in his arms, to shut out the
sight.

It is unlikely that Walt Lampson had thought of Whitey, until he chanced
to see this action. Then he spoke, and not unkindly.

"You'd better get back there behind the hill, kid," Walt said. "This
ain't no place for you."

And so Whitey rose, and returned to where Monty was tethered, and he
was not ashamed of the fact that he stumbled as he walked. But Injun
still crouched out behind the boulder. There was no quivering of his
nerves. The only fear he might have had was that if he returned he would
be sent to the rear; and