r of laughter.

The hilarity continued until dark, only stopping when John Terry slipped
out of the window, dropped to all-fours and stuck his head around the
corner of the rear wall. He saw many stars and was silently handed to
Pete Wilson.

"What was that noise?" exclaimed Boggs in a low tone. "Are you all
right, Terry?" he asked, anxiously.

Three knocks on the wall replied to his question and then McQuade went
out, and three more knocks were heard.

"Wonder why they make that funny noise," muttered Boggs.

"Bumped inter something, I reckon," replied Jim Larkin. "Get out of my
way--I'm next."

Boggs listened intently and then pushed Duke Lane back. "Don't like
that--sounds like a crack on the head. Hey, Jim! _Say_ something!" he
called softly. The three knocks were repeated, but Boggs was suspicious
and he shook his head decisively. "To 'ell with the knocking--_say_
something!"

"Still got them twelve men?" asked a strange voice, pleasantly.

"_An' every dog a flea_," hummed another around the corner.

"Hell!" shouted Boggs. "To the door, fellers! To the door--quick!"

A whistle shrilled from behind the house and a leaden tattoo began
on the door. "Other window!" whispered O'Neill. The foreman got there
before him and, shoving his Colt out first to clear the way, yelled with
rage and pain as a pole hit his wrist and knocked the weapon out of his
hand. He was still commenting when Duke Lane pried open the door and,
dropping quickly on his stomach, wriggled out, followed closely by
Charley Beal and Tim. At that instant the tattoo drummed with greater
vigor and such a hail of lead poured in through the opening that the
door was promptly closed, leaving the three men outside to shift for
themselves with the darkness their only cover.

Duke and his companions whispered together as they lay flat and agreed
upon a plan of action. Going around the ends of the house was suicide
and no better than waiting for the rising moon to show them to the
enemy; but there was no reason why the roof could not be utilized. Tim
and Charley boosted Duke up, then Tim followed, and the pair on the roof
pulled Charley to their side. Flat roofs were great institutions they
decided as they crawled cautiously towards the other side. This roof was
of hard, sun-baked adobe, over two feet thick, and they did not care if
their friends shot up on a gamble.

"Fine place, all right," thought Charley, grinning broadly. Then he
turned an ago