ed upon the rock underpining.

"Und py cosh! Dey vould move my shack off'n my land!" he grunted
ragefully as he lived over the memory.

Irish went to the door and looked out. The wind had risen in the last
half hour, so that his hat went sailing against the rear wall, but he
did not notice that. He was wondering why the settlers had made this
night move against Patsy. Was it an attempt to irritate the boys to some
real act of violence--something that would put them in fear of the law?
Or was it simply a stratagem to call off the night-guard so that they
might slip their cattle across into the breaks? They must have counted
on some disturbance which would reach the ears of the boys on guard. If
Patsy had not begun the bombardment with his old rifle, they would very
likely have fired a few shots themselves--enough to attract attention.
With that end in view, he could see why Patsy's shack had been chosen
for the attack. Patsy's shack was the closest to where they had been
holding the cattle. It was absurdly simple, and evidently the ruse had
worked to perfection.

"Where are the boys at now?" he asked abruptly, turning to Patsy who had
risen and knocked the ashes from his pipe and was slicing bacon.

"Gone after the cattle. Dey stampede alreatty mit all der noise," Patsy
growled, with his back to Irish.

So it was just as Irish had suspected. He faced the west and the
gathering bank of "thunder heads" that rode swift on the wind and
muttered sullenly as they rode, and he hesitated. Should he go after the
boys and help them round up the stock and drive it back, or should he
stay where he was and watch the claims? There was that fence--he must
see to that, too.

He turned and asked Patsy if all the boys were gone. But Patsy did not
know.

Irish stood in the doorway until breakfast was ready whereupon he sat
down and ate hurriedly--as much from habit as from any present need of
haste. A gust of wind made the flimsy cabin shake, and Patsy went to
close the door against its sudden fury.

"Some riders iss coming now," he said, and held the door half closed
against the wind. "It ain't none off der boys," he added, with the
certainty which came of his having watched, times without number, while
the various members of the Happy Family rode in from the far horizons to
camp. "Pilgrims, I guess--from der ridin'."

Irish grunted and reached for the coffee pot, giving scarce a thought to
Patsy's announcement. While he poured