zed team.
With drawn guns, the four passengers in the coach waited for something
to shoot at. They were soon to see plenty.

The mesquites suddenly became alive with brown-skinned warriors,
hideous with paint and screaming their hoarse death cry. Some were
mounted, and others were on foot. All charged the coach.

There must have been fifty in the swarm, and still they came! Those
that were armed with rifles fired madly into the coach and at the team.
Others rushed up and tried to seize the bridles.

"It's all up with us!" the guard cried, drawing his big .45 Colt.

"But we ain't--goin' to sell out--cheap!" the driver panted.

Escape was impossible now, for two of the horses went down, plunging
and kicking at the harness in their death agony. The other
animals--some wounded, and all of them mad with fright--overturned the
old stagecoach. With a loud crash, the vehicle went over on its side!
The driver and guard, teeth bared in grins of fury, raised their
six-guns and prepared to sell their lives as dearly as possible. The
passengers inside began firing desperately.

The renegade Indians rushed. They nearly gained the wrecked stage, but
not quite. Before the straight shooting of the trapped whites, they
fell back to cover again. They did not believe in taking unnecessary
chances. They had their victims where they wanted them, and it would
be only a question of time before they would be slaughtered. The fight
became a siege.

It was sixty against six--or, rather, it was sixty to five. For the
redskins had increased the odds by shooting down the driver. The
second bullet he received drilled him through the heart. The guard,
scrambling for shelter, joined the four men in the overturned coach.

The Apaches, back in their refuge among the brush, began playing a
waiting game. The fire, for a moment, ceased.

"They'll rush again in a minute," muttered the guard. "We'll do well
to stop 'em. Anyways, we won't hold out long. Just a question o'
time."

"Is there any chance o' help?" asked one of the men, while loading his
revolver.

He was a broad-shouldered, big-chested man of fifty--the father of the
youth who was now fighting beside him.

The guard shook his head. "Afraid not. Unless one of us could get
through to Lost Springs, six miles from here. Even if we could, I
don't think we'd get any help. There's not many livin' there, and
they're all scared of Apaches. Can't say I blame 'em."

B