he was too wily to take a chance. So most of
what followed was seen by Injun, and heard about by Whitey.

There came the time when the surviving sheepmen could no longer remain
in the house. Like a wise leader, Donald Spellman divided his forces,
and ten crouching figures emerged from the front of the house, and ten
from the back, and were outlined against the flames, as they scurried
away. How they were harried and followed and shot down would not make
pleasant reading, and what happened to those who were captured it is not
necessary to write, as you will remember what the cattlemen had sworn to
do at their meeting.

After this, if there had been any who doubted Mart Cooley's skill as a
gunman, they doubted no longer. And it was the misfortune of Donald
Spellman to come under Mart's aim. Or perhaps it was his good fortune
to be mortally wounded by a bullet, instead of ending his life as did
the captives. But Spellman had something to say before he died, and he
said it to Walt Lampson.

"You got us," he gasped, "an' you got us right. An' I only got one thing
to tell you, an' to tell you quick. I didn't plan that cattle stampede.
It was a dirty trick."

"Who did?" Walter asked eagerly.

And Spellman answered that question with the last words he ever spoke.

It was at this time that Injun, still crouching behind his boulder, saw
something like a miracle--a dead man coming to life. The man had fallen
at the first volley, and the fight had swung past him. And now he rose,
and stole hastily on his moonlit way. Injun watched solemnly. He had no
mind to give a warning, and probably get shot for his pains. He might
even have admired the trick, if he had not had a closer view of the
runaway, who was Henry Dorgan.

When Injun discovered this, he was solemn no longer. He reached for his
bow, but there was no arrow to fit in it. The last had been shot at the
ranch house. Injun watched Dorgan disappear into the night, and said
bitter things--in the Injun language.

So ended the last of this engagement in the cattle-sheep war, except for
one incident. The cause of it all was still to be dealt with--the sheep.
And here was another picture that Whitey fortunately missed. A tragic
picture, seen from the hills at dawn, as the white, panic-stricken
creatures, crowding, bleating, and complaining, were forced through the
canyon to the bed of the narrow, shallow stream, on their way to the
opening in the cliffs, through which the b