"All right! here goes!"

In another moment Professor Scotch, for it really was that individual,
flung himself from the back of the animal he had ridden, struck the
ground, rolled over and over like a ball, and lay still within thirty
feet of Frank, groaning dolefully.

In the meantime, Al Bushnell was working his Winchester in a manner that
was simply amazing, for a steady stream of fire seemed to pour from the
muzzle of the weapon, and the cracking of the weapon echoed through the
streets of Huejugilla el Alto like the rattling fire from a line of
infantry.

After that first shot Bushnell lowered the muzzle of his weapon, as, in
most cases at short range, his motto was to "shoot low," for he well
knew more lead could be wasted by shooting too high than in any other
manner.

In about three seconds he had thrown the pursuing bandits into the
utmost confusion, for they had never before encountered such a reception
in Huejugilla el Alto, and it was the last thing they had expected. With
all possible haste, they reined about and took to flight, hearing the
bullets whistling about them, or feeling their horses leap madly at the
sting of lead or go plunging to the ground.

The inhabitants of the town had fled into their houses before the rush
of the bandits, so there was little danger that any of Bushnell's
bullets would reach innocent persons.

The confusion and rout of the bandits was brought about in a few
seconds, and Bushnell was heard to mutter:

"One white man is good fer a hundred onery Greasers any time! Ther
derned skunks hain't got a blamed bit of sand!"

Frank ran and lifted the fallen professor, flinging the man across his
shoulder, and carrying him into the hotel.

Hans followed with frantic haste, and Bushnell came sauntering lazily in
after the bandits had been routed and driven back.

"Are you badly hurt, professor?" asked Frank, anxiously.

"I'm killed!" groaned Scotch, dolefully. "I'm shot full of holes, and
every bone in my body is broken! Farewell, my boy! We'll meet in a
better land, where there are no bandits to molest or make afraid."

"Where are you shot?"

"Everywhere--all over! You can't touch me where I'm not shot! They fired
more than four hundred bullets through me! I am so full of holes that I
wonder you can see me at all!"

Bushnell made a hasty examination of the professor, who lay on the
floor, groaning faintly, his eyes closed.

"Look hyar, pard," said the Westerner, roug