ly have up his sleeve? Tom put himself in his place to
see what he would do.

And instantly he knew. The real attack would come from the rear. With
the firing of the first shot back there, Bully West would charge.
Taken on both sides the garrison would fall easy victims.

The constable and Onistah were busy answering the fire of the
smugglers. Sleeping Dawn was crouched down behind two rocks, the
barrel of her rifle gleaming through a slit of open space between
them. She was compromising between the orders given her and the
anxiety in her to fight back Bully West. As much as she could she kept
under cover, while at the same time firing into the darkness whenever
she thought she saw a movement.

Morse slipped rearward on a tour of investigation. The ground here
fell away rather sharply, so that one coming from behind would have to
climb over a boulder field rising to the big rocks. It took Tom only a
casual examination to see that a surprise would have to be launched by
way of a sort of rough natural stairway.

A flat shoulder of sandstone dominated the stairway from above. Upon
this Morse crouched, every sense alert to detect the presence of any
one stealing up the pass. He waited, eager and yet patient. What he
was going to attempt had its risk, but the danger whipped the blood in
his veins to a still excitement.

Occasionally, at intervals, the rifles cracked. Except for that no
other sound came to him. He could keep no count of time. It seemed to
him that hours slipped away. In reality it could have been only a few
minutes.

Below, from the foot of the winding stairway, there was a sound, such
a one as might come from the grinding of loose rubble beneath the sole
of a boot. Presently the man on the ledge heard it again, this time
more distinctly. Some one was crawling up the rocks.

Tom peered into the darkness intently. He could see nothing except the
flat rocks disappearing vaguely in the gloom. Nor could he hear again
the crunch of a footstep on disintegrated sandstone. His nerves grew
taut. Could he have made a mistake? Was there another way up from
behind?

Then, at the turn of the stairway, a few feet below him, a figure rose
in silhouette. It appeared with extraordinary caution, first a head,
then the barrel of a rifle, finally a crouched body followed by bowed
legs. On hands and knees it crept forward, hitching the weapon along
beside it. Exactly opposite Morse, under the very shadow of the
sloping