excited by the red light, the other man stood irresolute, eager for
action, but not knowing what to do. A picture came back to him of a ship
labouring in a storm; the huddling men on the deck; the mate on the
bridge, shrieking his orders through a megaphone. He cupped his hands at
his mouth and began to bark orders.

They obeyed on the run. Some rushed for the kitchen and secured buckets;
two manned the big pump and started a great gush of water; in a moment a
steady stream was being flung by the foremost men of the line against
the smoking walls and even the ceiling of the dining-room. So far it was
the oil itself, which had made most of the flame and smoke, and now,
although the big table was on fire, the main structure of the house was
hardly touched.

They caught it in time and worked with a cheer, swinging the buckets
from hand to hand, shouting as the flames fell little by little until
the floor of the room was awash, the walls gave back clouds of steam,
and the only fire was that which smouldered along the ruined table. Even
this went out, hissing, at last, and they came back with blackened,
singed faces to Calamity and Drew.

The rancher had torn away the coat and shirt of the wounded man, and
now, with much labour, was twisting a tight bandage around his chest. At
every turn Calamity groaned feebly. Kilrain dropped beside his partner,
taking the head between his hands.

"Calamity--pal," he said, "how'd you let a tenderfoot, a damned
tenderfoot, do this?"

The other sighed: "I dunno. I had him covered. I should have sent him to
hell. But sure shootin' is better'n fast shootin'. He nailed me fair and
square while I was blockin' him at the door."

"How d'you feel?"

"Done for, Shorty, but damned glad that-----"

His voice died away in a horrible whisper and bubbles of red foam rose
to his lips.

"God!" groaned Shorty, and then called loudly, as if the strength of his
voice might recall the other, "Calamity!"

The eyes of Calamity rolled up; the wide lips twisted over formless
words; there was no sound from his mouth. Someone was holding a lantern
whose light fell full on the silent struggle. It was Nash, his habitual
sneer grown more malevolent than ever.

"What of the feller that done it, Shorty?" he suggested.

"So help me God," said the cattleman, with surprising softness, "the
range ain't big enough to keep him away from me."

Drew, completing his bandage, said, "That's enough of such talk, N