few kinds of fools and hastened to nail
the door shut; he hit his thumb and his heart became filled with venom.

"_Now_ look at what they went an' done!" he yelled, running around in a
circle. "Damned outrage!"

"Huh!" snorted Cranky Joe with maddening superiority. "That ain't
nothing--just look at me!"

Boggs looked, very fixedly, and showed signs of apoplexy, and Cranky Joe
returned to his end of the room to resume his soliloquy.

"Why don't you come out an' take them cows!" inquired an unkind voice
from without. "Ain't changed yore mind, have you?"

"We'll give you a drink for half a cent a head--that's the regular price
for watering cows," called another.

The faint ripple of mirth which ran around the plain was lost in
opinions loudly expressed within the room; and Boggs, tears of rage
in his eyes, flung himself down on a chair and invented new terms for
describing human beings.

John Terry was observing. He had been fluttering around the north
window, constantly getting bolder, and had not been disturbed. When he
withdrew his sombrero and found that it was intact he smiled to himself
and leaned his elbows on the sill, looking carefully around the plain.
The discovery that there was no cover on the north side cheered him
greatly and he called to Boggs, outlining a plan of action.

Boggs listened intently and then smiled for the first time since dawn.
"Bully for you, Terry!" he enthused. "Wait till dark--we'll fool 'em."

A bullet chipped the 'dobe at Terry's side and he ducked as he leaped
back. "From an angle--what did I tell you?" he laughed. "We'll drop
out here an' sneak behind the house after dark. They'll be watching the
door--an' they won't be able to see us, anyhow."

Boggs sucked his thumb tenderly and grinned. "After which--," he elated.

"After which--," gravely repeated Terry, the others echoing it with
unrestrained joy.

"Then, mebby, I can get a drink," chuckled Larkin, brightening under the
thought.

"The moon comes up at ten," warned a voice. "It'll be full to-night--an'
there ain't many clouds in sight."

"_Ol' King Cole was a merry ol' soul_," hummed McQuade, lightly.

"An'--a--merry--ol'--soul--was--he!--was--he!" thundered the chorus,
deep-toned and strong. "_He had a wife for every toe, an' some toes
counted three!_"

"Listen!" cried Meade, holding up his hand.

"_An' every wife had sixteen dogs, an' every dog a flea!_" shouted a
voice from the besiegers, followed by a roa