walk light and shifty." And he kept on above the
ranch in order to drop down through the timber of the canyon.

After tethering his horse upon a little plot of grass just west of the
garden, he adjusted his revolver on his thigh at the precise point where
it was handiest, and moved forward with care. "They mustn't have time
even to _think_ fight," he decided.

As he rounded the corner of the stable he heard the voice of a girl
singing, and the effect of this upon him was greater than any uproar. It
was uncanny. It made him wonder what kind of woman she could be who
could carol in the midst of the band of raiders. She might be more
dangerous than the men. She certainly added another complication to the
situation.

Listening closely, he was able to detect the voices of at least two men
as they joined discordantly in the refrain of the song. It was evident
that all felt entirely secure, and the task to which the ranger now
addressed himself was neither simple nor pleasant. To take these raiders
unaware, to get the upper hand of them, and to bring them to justice was
a dangerous program, but he was accustomed to taking chances and did not
hesitate very long.

Keeping close to the shadow, he crept from the corral to the garden
fence and from the covert of a clump of tall sunflowers was able to peer
into the cabin window with almost unobstructed vision. A woman was
seated on a low chair in the middle of the floor, playing a guitar and
singing a lively song. He could not see the men. "I wonder if that door
is locked?" he queried. "If it isn't, the job is easy. If it is, I'll
have to operate through a screen window."

He remembered that both doors, front and back, were very strong, for
Kauffman had been careful to have them heavily hinged and double-barred.
They could not be broken except with a sledge. The screen on the windows
could be ripped off, but to do that would make delay at the precise
moment when a quarter of a second would be worth a lifetime. "No, I've
got to gamble on that door being unlocked," he concluded, with the
fatalism of the mountaineer, to whom danger is an ever-present
side-partner.

With his revolver in his hand, he slid through the garden and reached
the corner of the house unperceived. The woman was now playing a dance
tune, and the men were stamping and shouting; and under cover of their
clamor the ranger, stooping low, passed the window and laid his hand on
the knob. The door yielded to his