his horse in a clump of quaking asp and made his way cautiously to the edge of a clearing, where he could command a view of the scene below. Through the binoculars, which he always carried, he watched with interest the development of a drama which had already taken the form of tragedy.

In the center of a considerable tract of cleared land stood a cabin. It was a small cabin, evidently not more than one room, but stoutly built of logs. There was no porch, but close to the single step, leading to the front door, lay the figure of a man, evidently dead. A water bucket, upturned, was near his outstretched hand.

“They didn’t give him a chance, the curs! They must have shot him as he started to the spring for water,” said Bertram aloud, noticing the well-worn trail from the door to a small ravine, one hundred yards or more away.

Sounds of firing came from the ravine and from the clumps of trees on all sides of the clearing in which the house stood. Answering shots came from the house. It was evident that the defense was being put up by one man, an expert marksman.

“He must have hit some of ’em right at the start,” muttered Bertram, “or they’d have rushed the house.”

The cabin seemed to be liberally provided with loopholes, as shots came from all sides. The lone defender, plainly enough, was distributing his shots impartially, keeping a good lookout to see that no parties gained the shelter of the cabin walls.

The bright sunlight crept down the foothills and flooded the scene of battle. Still the fight went on. One hour passed—then two. The man in the cabin seemed to have an unlimited supply of ammunition. If he could manage to hold out much longer, perhaps the countryside would be aroused and come to his rescue. Bertram knew from the talk of Swingley and others that there were many ranches between this outpost and the county seat, where the invaders had planned to dispossess the sheriff and strike their heaviest blow. If they were delayed too long, their surprise march would be futile.

The Texan could imagine how Swingley was fuming at the unexpected resistance, and how he was urging the cowboys to renewed efforts to “get” their man. But, in spite of the countless shots that were directed at the windows and loopholes on all sides of the cabin, not a bullet seemed to take effect. The return fire came steadily from the cabin—first from one side and then from another.

Bertram saw two cowboys being 

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