as a bullet hummed in through the window he had quitted for the moment, and thudded into the wall, making the dry adobe fly. It had missed him by a few inches and now he crept along the floor to the rear of the room and shoved his rifle among the branches of a stunted mesquite which grew before a fissure in the wall. "You keep away from that window, Hoppy, for a minute," he warned.

A terror-stricken lizard flashed out of the fissure and along the wall where the roof had fallen in and flirted into a hole, while a fly buzzed loudly and hovered persistently around Red's head, to the anger of that individual. "Ah, ha!" he grunted, firing. A yell reached his ears and he forthwith returned to his window, whistling softly.

Mr. Cassidy hummed Dixie and then jumped to Yankee Doodle, mixing the two airs with careless impartiality, and his friend quickly announced his disapproval: "You can make more of a mess of them two songs than anybody I ever heard murder 'em. Shut up!"—and the singer vented his feelings at an Indian, killing the horse instead.

"Got his cayuse, Red," he said, shoving a fresh cartridge into the foul, greasy breech of the Sharps. "Here's where I get square for th' eyes," he muttered, firing. "Missed!" he ejaculated in disgust. "Better take my Winchester," grinned his companion, winking at another lizard.

"You go to th' devil!" snapped Mr. Cassidy, firing again. "Whoop! Got him. that time!"

"Where?" asked Red, with strong suspicion.

"None of yore business!"

"D-n it! Who spilled th' water?" yelled Red, staring blankly at the overturned canteen.

Then Hopalong laughed at the ludicrous side of the whole affair, thereby revealing one of the characteristics which endeared him to his friends. No matter how desperate a situation might be, he could always find a laugh in it. He laughed going into danger and coming out of it, with a joke or a whimsical pleasantry always trembling on the end of his tongue. "Did it ever strike you how cussed thirsty a feller gets just as soon as he knows he can't have no drink? But it don't make much difference, nohow. We'll get out of this little scrape just as we've allus got out of trouble. There's five mad warwhoops outside that are worse off than we are, because they're at th' wrong end of yore gun, Red."

Yo're shore a happy idiot," grinned Red. "Hey, listen!"

Galloping was heard and Hopalong, running to the door, looked out through a crack as sudden firing broke out around the rear of the shack, and fell to pulling away the props, crying: "It's a puncher, Red, riding this way! Come on an' help him!"

"He's a blamed fool! I'm with you," replied Red, at his side.

A half-mile from the house, coming across the open space as fast as he could urge his horse, rode a cowboy, and not far behind him raced about a dozen Apaches who were yelling and firing.

Red picked up his companion's Sharps and steadying it against the jamb of the door, fired, dropping one of the foremost pursuers. Quickly reloading he fired again. and missed. The third shot struck another warrior and then, taking up his own rifle, he began to fire rapidly, as rapidly as he could and make his shots tell. Hopalong, drew his Colts and ran back to watch the rear of the house and it was well that he did so, for an Apache in that direction, believing that the trapped punchers were so busily engaged with the new developments as to forget for the moment, sprinted toward the back window, and had got within twenty paces of his goal when Hopalong's Colt cracked a protest. Seeing that the warrior was no longer a combatant Mr. Cassidy ran back to the door just as the stranger fell from his horse and crawled past Red. The door slammed shut, the props fell against it and the two

punchers turned to drive back the second band, but they had given up hopes of rushing the house in the face of Red's fire and already had found cover.

The stranger dragged himself to the canteens and drank what little water was left and then turned to watch the two men moving from place to place, firing methodically.

"My name's Holden," he whispered hoarsely during a lull. "I'm from th' Cross-O-Cross."

"Mine's Cassidy, an' that's Connors, Bar-20. Are you hurt bad?"

"No, not very bad.

Gee, but I'm glad

I fell in with you fellers," exclaimed the other. He was little more than a boy and to him Hopalong Cassidy and Red Connors were names to conjure with. "But I'm plumb sorry I brought you more trouble," he added, regretfully.

"Pshaw! We had it before you cameit's all right, Holden," assured Hopalong, smiling. "How'd you come to mix up with 'em?"

"It's an awful story, awful! I was riding toward Hoyt's Corners an' when I got about half way to town I topped a rise an' saw a nester's house about half a mile away. It looked so purty that I sort of stopped. I was just agoing to start again when that war-party rode out of an arroyo close to th' house an' went straight for it -it was soon over. I saw 'em drag out two women an'-an'-purty soon a man. He was fighting like fury, but he didn't last long. Then they set fire to th' shack an' threw th' man's body up on th' roof. I couldn't move till th' fire shot up, but then I got sort of loco an' emptied my gun at 'em, what was plumb foolish. Th' next thing I knowed was that half of 'em was a coming my way, so I lit out, an' here I am. I can't get that sight outen my head nohow-it'll drive me loco!"

His auditors had been moving about the room while he talked, growing more and more vindictive all the while and most zealously endeavoring to create a greater deficit in one Apache war-party. Then Mr. Connors saw his friend suddenly lean out of a window and immediately become a target for the enemy, and he swore at the recklessness of it: "Hey, you! Come in, you blasted chump! Don't you know we need every gun?”

"That's right-I sort of forgot," grinned the reckless one, hastily obeying. "But there's two thundering big tarantulas out there fighting like blazes. You ought to see 'em jump! It's a sort of leap-frog fight."

"D-n fool!" snorted Mr. Connors, belligerently. "You'd 'a' jumped if one of them slugs got to you!"

"Well, they didn't, did they? What you yelling about, anyhow?" growled Hopalong.

Mr. Holden stared open-mouthed at the man who could enjoy a spider fight under such distressing conditions and his shaken nerves became steadier when he realized that he was a companion of the two men about whom he had heard so much. Evidently the stories had not been exaggerated. He arose to his feet and saw a horse run into the open on Red's side of the house and after it blundered its owner, who immediately lost all need of the aniHolden laughed from the joy of being with a man who could shoot like that and he took up his rifle and turned to a crack in the wall, filled with determination to let his companions see that he was built of the right kind of timber, wounded as he was.

"Hey, Red," called Hopalong. "Th' big one is dead."

"Go to th' devil!" snapped Red, who had to grin, despite his feelings.

So the day passed and when darkness had fallen each of the defenders was wounded, Holden desperately so.

"Red, I'm going to try to get to th' ranch," Mr. Cassidy suddenly announced, and his friend knew better than to oppose him. "It's only thirty miles to Buckskin an' if I can get away from here I'm good to make it by eleven. I'll stop at Cowan's an' have him send word to Lucas an' Bartlett so there won't be no time lost. We can pick them up on th' way back. If I get through you can expect excitement on th' outside by daylight. You an' Holden can hold her till then, for they never attack at night. It's th' only way out of this for us-we ain't got enough cartridges, or water, for another day."

"Why don't you both go?" feebly asked

Holden. "I ain't agoing to live, so there ain't no use of anybody staying with me. Put a bullet through me so them devils can't play with me an' get away while you can."

"No more of that!" cried Red. "I'm going to stay with you an' see things through. I can't get away anyhow, because my cayuse is hit too hard, an' yourn is dead," he lied. "Yo're going to get well, all right," he added.

Hopalong walked over to the prostrate man and shook hands with him: "I'm glad I met you, Holden. Yo're th' right kind. We'll have you in Buckskin by tomorrow noon. So long."

He turned to Red and shook hands silently, led his horse out of the door and mounted, glad that the moon had not yet come up, for now he had a chance.

"Good luck, Hoppy!" called Red softly, running to the door. "Good luck!"

"You bet-an' lots of it, too," groaned Holden, but he was gone. Then Red wheeled: "Keep yore ears an' eyes open, Holden. I'm going to see that he gets off for a ways, anyhow. He may run into a" and he, also, was gone.

Holden watched the door and windows, striving to resist the giddy feeling in his head, and ten minutes later he heard a shot and then several more. Shortly afterward he heard Red call out and almost immediately the Bar-20 puncher crawled in through a window.

"Well?" anxiously cried the man on the floor.

"He got away from th' first crowd, anyhow. I wasn't far behind him, an' by th' time they woke up to what was going on he was through an' riding like blazes. I heard him call 'em half-breeds a moment

later an' it sounded away off. They hit me-fired at my flash, like I drilled one of them. But it ain't much. How you feeling now?"

"Fine!" lied the other. "That Cassidy is a wonder-he's all right, an' so are you!"

"Now here, finish th' water in yore canteen-I picked it up outside by yore cayuse. Then go to sleep," ordered Red. "I'll do all th' watching that's needed."

"I will if you will call me when you get sleepy."

"Shore I will-don't you want all th' rest of th' water? I ain't a bit thirsty,"

Red remarked as his companion offered him the canteen. "All right," replied Red, pretending to drink. "Now you go to sleep. A good snooze 'll do you a world of good."

III

Cowan's saloon, club and place of general assembly for the town of Buckskin and the nearby ranches, held a merry crowd, for it was pay-day on the ranges and laughter and liquor ran a close race. Buck Peters, his hands full of cigars, passed through the happy go-as-you-please crowd and invited everybody to smoke, which nobody refused to do. Wood Wright, of the C 80, tuned his fiddle anew and was just starting a rousing quickstep when the door flew open and a blood-stained man staggered in, crying: "Buck! Red's hemmed in by 'Paches!"

"Good God!" roared the foreman of the Bar-20, leaping forward, the cigars falling to the floor. He grasped his puncher and led him to the bar, where brandy soon braced him. The room was in an uproar, men grabbing rifles and running out to get their horses, for it was plain to be seen that there was work to do, and quickly. Questions, threats, curses filled the air, those who remained inside eagerly listening to the story; those outside shouting impatiently for a start to be made. Hopalong told in a graphic manner all that was necessary while Buck and Cowan hurriedly bandaged his wounds.

"Come on! Come on!" shouted the mounted crowd outside, the prancing of horses and clinking of metal adding to the noise.

"Listen, Hoppy!" pleaded Buck in the furore: "SHUT UP, you outside!" he yelled. "You say they know you got away?" he asked. "All right-Lanky!" he shouted, "Lanky!"

"Here, Buck!" and Lanky Smith pushed forward: "Here I am."

"Take Skinny an' Pete with you, an' a lead horse apiece. Strike straight for Power's old ranch house. Them Injuns 'll shore have pickets out looking for us. You three get th' pickets nearest th' old trail an' then wait for us. Don't make no noise doing it, neither. Understand? Ride like th' devil!"

Lanky disappeared and immediately thereafter hoofbeats pounded into the north, soon lost to the ear.

"It's Powers old shack, boys!" shouted a man to the restless force outside: "Wait for us!"

"Then get a move on-whoa-it'll be light before we can get there if you don't," roared a voice from the mass: "You know what that means!"

"I'll show you th' way!" Hopalong cried: "Cowan, put my saddle on yore cayuse pronto!"

"You stay here-yo're hurt too much!" Buck cried: Ain't you got no sense?"

Hopalong wheeled and looked his foreman squarely in the eyes: "Red's out there waiting for me-I'm going," he said. with quiet determination.

"Good for you, Cassidy!" cried a man who lingered near.

"Come on, then," replied Buck, "there's blamed few like you,' he muttered, following Hopalong outside.

"Here's th' cayuse, Cassidy," cried Cowan. "Wait, Buck!" he leaped into the building and ran out again, shoving a bottle of brandy into the foreman's hand. "Mebby he'll need it-so long," and he was alone, peering through the moonlight along the river trail after a black mass which shrunk rapidly.

"There'll be great doings when that gang cuts loose," he muttered. "D-n Injuns, anyhow!"

Far ahead of the fighting force rode the three special-duty men, reeling off the miles at top speed and constantly distancing their friends, for they changed mounts at need, thanks to the lead horses provided by Mr. Peters' foresight.

*

The night dragged along slowly to the grim watcher in the old ranch house and the man huddled in a corner stirred uneasily and babbled, ofttimes crying out in horror at the vivid dreams of his disordered mind. Pacing unceasingly from window to window, crack to crack, when the moon came up Mr. Connors scanned the bare, level plain with anxious eyes, searching for dark spots on its dull, gray surface. They never attacked at night, but stillThrough the void came the quavering call

There was movement by that small chaparral to the south! To the east something stirred and then they came, on foot and silently as fleeting shadows, leaning forward to bring into play every ounce of power in the slim red legs. Smoke filled the room and the crashing of the Winchester, worked with wonderful speed and accuracy, brought the prostrate man to his feet in an instinctive response to the call to action, the necessity of defense.

One warrior threw up his arms and fell forward; the next pitched to one side; the legs of the third collapsed and threw him headlong; the fourth leaped high into the air and turned a sommersault before he lay quiet. Mr. Holden, steadying himself against a window on the other side of the room, was emptying his Colt in a dazed sort of way-doing his best. Then the man with the rifle staggered back, his right arm useless, and drew his Colt with the other hand.

Holden shrieked once and sank down, wagging his head slowly, blood oozing from his mouth and nostrils; and his companion, goaded into a frenzy of fighting madness at the sight, threw himself against the door and out into the open, to die under the clear sky, to go like the man he was if he must die.

A fusillade roared from the south and a crowd of hard-riding, hard-shooting men tore out of the sheltering thickets and on over the open, yelling and cursing, and separated to go in hot pursuit of the sprinting Apaches. Some stood up in their stirrups and fired down at a slant, making a chopping motion with their heavy Colts; others leaned forward far out over their horses' necks and shot with stationary guns, while yet others, with reins dangling free, worked the levers of blue Winchesters so rapidly that the flashes seemed to merge.

"Thank God!" groaned the man at the door of the shack, "-an' Hoppy!" and staggered forward to meet the two who

had lost no time in pursuit of the enemy, but rode straight to him.

"I was scared stiff you was done for!" cried Hopalong, leaping off his horse and shaking hands with his friend, whose hand clasp was not as strong as usual. "How's Holden?"

"Dead. It was a close

"Shut up, an' drink this!" ordered the foreman, kindly but sternly. "We'll do th' talking for awhile. Hullo!" he cried, as Lanky Smith and his two companions rode up. "Reckon you must 'a' got them pickets."

"Shore, stalked 'em on our stomachs,

didn't we, Skinny?" modestly replied Mr. Smith, the roping expert of the outfit. "Ropes an' clubbed guns did th' rest. There was only two near th' trail."

"We didn't see you," responded the foreman, tying the knot of a bandage on Mr. Connors. "We looked sharp, too."

"Reckon we was a hunting for more; we forgot what you said," Mr. Smith replied, grinning broadly.

"Which we didn't find,” added Mr. Pete Wilson, regretfully. "But we got Red, an' that's th' whole game. Red, you old son-of-a-gun, you can lick yore weight in powder!"