"Wish I'd gone out the window instead," growled Charley, worming behind
Duke, to the latter's prompt displeasure.

"You fellers better come down, one at a time," came from below. "Send
yore guns down first, too. Red's a blamed good shot."

"Hope he croaks," muttered Duke. "_That's_ closer yet!"

Tim's hand raised and a flash of fire singed Charley's hair. "Got to do
something, anyhow," he explained, lowering the Colt and peering across
the plain.

"You damned near succeeded!" shouted Charley, grabbing at his head.
"Why, they're three hundred, an' you trying for 'em with a--_oh!_" he
moaned, writhing.

"Locoed fool!" swore Duke, "showing 'em where we are! They're doing good
enough as it is! You ought--got _you_, too!"

"_I'm_ going down--that blamed fool out there ain't caring what he
hits," mumbled Charley, clenching his hands from pain. He slid over the
edge and Pete grabbed him.

"Next," suggested Pete, expectantly.

Tim tossed his Colt over the edge. "Here's another," he swore, following
the weapon. He was grabbed and bound in a trice.

"When may we expect you, Mr. Duke?" asked Johnny, looking up.

"Presently, friend, presently. I want to--_wow_!" he finished, and
lost no time in his descent, which was meteoric. "That feller'll _kill_
somebody if he ain't careful!" he complained as Pete tied his hands
behind his back.

"You wait till daylight an' see," cheerily replied Pete as the three
were led off to join their friends in the corral.

There was no further action until the sun arose and then Hopalong
hailed the house and demanded a parley, and soon he and Boggs met midway
between the shack and the line.

"What d'you want?" asked Boggs, sullenly.

"Want you to stop this farce so I can go on with my drive."

"Well, I ain't holding you!" exploded the 4X foreman.

"Oh, yes; but you are. I can't let you an' yore men out to hang on our
flanks an' worry us; an' I don't want to hold you in that shack till you
all die of thirst, or come out to be all shot up. Besides, I can't fool
around here for a week; I got business to look after."

"Don't you worry about us dying with thirst; that ain't worrying us
none."

"I heard different," replied Hopalong, smiling. "Them fellers in the
corral drank a quart apiece. See here, Boggs; you can't win, an' you
know it. Yo're not bucking me, but the whole range, the whole country.
It's a fight between conditions--the fence idea agin the open range
idea, an' open tr