rse stealin'," said Jean.

"Lend me that glass," demanded Guy, forcefully. He surveyed the band
of men for a long moment, then he handed the glass back to Jean.

"I'm goin' out there after my bosses," he declared.

"No!" exclaimed his father.

"That gang come to steal an' not to fight. Can't you see that? If they
meant to fight they'd do it. They're out there arguin' about my
hosses."

Guy picked up his rifle. He looked sullenly determined and the gleam
in his eye was one of fearlessness.

"Son, I know Daggs," said his father. "An' I know Jorth. They've come
to kill us. It 'll be shore death for y'u to go out there."

"I'm goin', anyhow. They can't steal my hosses out from under my eyes.
An' they ain't in range."

"Wal, Guy, you ain't goin' alone," spoke up Jacobs, cheerily, as he
came forward.

The red-haired young wife of Guy Isbel showed no change of her grave
face. She had been reared in a stern school. She knew men in times
like these. But Jacobs's wife appealed to him, "Bill, don't risk your
life for a horse or two."

Jacobs laughed and answered, "Not much risk," and went out with Guy.
To Jean their action seemed foolhardy. He kept a keen eye on them and
saw instantly when the band became aware of Guy's and Jacobs's entrance
into the pasture. It took only another second then to realize that
Daggs and Jorth had deadly intent. Jean saw Daggs slip out of his
saddle, rifle in hand. Others of the gang did likewise, until half of
them were dismounted.

"Dad, they're goin' to shoot," called out Jean, sharply. "Yell for Guy
and Jacobs. Make them come back."

The old man shouted; Bill Isbel yelled; Blaisdell lifted his stentorian
voice.

Jean screamed piercingly: "Guy! Run! Run!"

But Guy Isbel and his companion strode on into the pasture, as if they
had not heard, as if no menacing horse thieves were within miles. They
had covered about a quarter of the distance across the pasture, and
were nearing the horses, when Jean saw red flashes and white puffs of
smoke burst out from the front of that dark band of rustlers. Then
followed the sharp, rattling crack of rifles.

Guy Isbel stopped short, and, dropping his gun, he threw up his arms
and fell headlong. Jacobs acted as if he had suddenly encountered an
invisible blow. He had been hit. Turning, he began to run and ran
fast for a few paces. There were more quick, sharp shots. He let go
of his rifle. His running broke. Walking