e rope viciously and
the noose tightened. The force of the jerk pulled Dale off his
balance, and he reeled against the partition.

Before he could regain his equilibrium Owen leaned far over the top of
the partition. Exerting the last ounce of his strength Owen lifted,
and Dale swung upward, swaying like an eccentric pendulum, his feet
well off the floor.

Dale's back was toward the wall, and he twisted and squirmed like a cat
to swing himself around so that he could face it.

During the time Dale struggled to turn, Owen moved rapidly. Leaping
off the chair, keeping the rope taut over the top of the partition,
Owen ran across the kitchen and swiftly looped the end of the rope
around a wooden bar that was used to fasten the rear outside door.

Then, running into the front room, he got the rifle, and returning to
the kitchen he got on the chair beside the partition.

He could hear Dale cursing. The man's legs were thrashing about,
striking the boards of the partition. Owen could hear his breath as it
coughed in his throat. But the little man merely grinned, and crouched
on the chair, waiting.

He was waiting for what he knew would come next. Dale would succeed in
twisting his body around before the rope could strangle him, he would
grasp the rope and pull himself upward until he could reach the top of
the partition with his hands.

And while Owen watched and waited, Dale's hands came up and gripped the
top of the wall--both hands, huge and muscular. Owen looked at them
with great glee before he acted. Then he brought the stock of the
rifle down on one of the hands with the precision of a cold
deliberation that had taken possession of him.

Dale screamed with the pain of the hurt, then cursed. But he still
gripped the top of the partition with the other hand.

Owen grinned, and with the deliberation that had marked the previous
blow he again brought the rifle stock down, smashing the remaining
hand. That, too, disappeared, and Dale's screaming curses filled the
cabin.

Owen waited. Twice more the hands came up, and twice more Owen crushed
them with the rifle butt. At last, though Owen waited for some time,
the hands came up no more. Then, slowly, cautiously, Owen stuck his
head over the top of the partition.

Dale's head had fallen forward; he was swinging slowly back and forth,
his body limp and lax.

CHAPTER XXVII

THE AMBUSH

Streak had done well, having slightly improved on the li