e
had been left behind in the valley when the attack had been made; and
only twenty others, including Blackburn, were left to cope with the
rustlers.

Blackburn cast a worried glance at them. He had plunged out of the
bunkhouse with the other men in time to catch a glimpse of the outlaws
as they went by with the herd, and he had roughly estimated their number
at fifty. The odds were great, and the advantage lay with the pursued,
for they could select ambuscades and take terrible toll from the Circle
L men.

Yet Blackburn was determined. He yelled to the others to take advantage
of whatever cover they could find; and he saw them slide from their
horses, one after another, and throw themselves into a shallow
depression that ran erratically north and south for some distance over
the plains. Before they reached the depression, however, there had come
more white puffs of smoke from the space ahead of them, and Blackburn
saw two Circle L men slide from their horses with a finality that
brought a savage glare into his eyes.

"Shorty," he said, hoarsely, to the big man at his side--who had
wriggled behind a rock at the crest of the depression and was coldly and
deliberately using the rifle he had taken from the holster on his
saddle; "we've got to have help--them scum outnumber us. You've got the
fastest horse an' you're the best rider in the bunch. An' you've got the
most sense. Barthman's ranch is the nearest, an' he's got fifteen men.
You hit the breeze over there an' tell him what's happened. Tell him
we're whipped if he don't help us. An' tell him to send a rider to
Corts, an' Littlefield, an' Sigmund, an' Lester, an' Caldwell. Tell 'em
to take that trail leadin' to Kinney's canon--this side. That's where
they're headin' the cattle to. They'll come a-rushin', for they like the
boss.

"There's forty men in that gang that's hidin' ahead of us, tryin' to
wipe us out. But if they was a hundred we could keep 'em from makin' any
time, an' if you'll burn the breeze some, you can have Barthman an' the
others at the trail near Kinney's canon before these guys get there!"

"Hell's fire, Blackburn," protested Shorty; "ain't there somebody else
can ride a damned horse? I'm aimin' to salivate some of them skunks!"

"Orders is orders, Shorty," growled Blackburn, coldly. "You're goin',
an' you're goin' right this minute--or I'm goin' to bust you in the
eye!"

"Well, if you put it that way," grimly grinned Shorty.

He crawled o