es of the cattlemen's
guns, and those showed no longer.

All the men were hushed, as though in expectancy. Whitey peered into the
darkness, as they were doing. The cloud's ragged edge showed at the
lower half of the moon, and the ranch house could be dimly seen. From
halfway between it and the men a small light appeared, flickered for a
moment, then rising in the air described a graceful half-circle and
alighted on the ranch house roof. Another, another, and then others
followed. Injun was firing lighted arrows.

The moon came forth, and a volley of shots was poured from the ranch
house toward the spot from whence the arrows had come. A volley from the
cattlemen penetrated the walls of the house. Whitey trembled for Injun,
out there in No Man's Land. He need not have trembled, for that young
person was safely crouching behind a boulder.

For the first time Whitey noticed that a breeze was stirring. Just as in
the night when you light a match a breeze springs up to put it out, so
now wind seemed to come to fan those burning arrows on the ranch house
roof. Whitey watched, chilled but fascinated. The men around him were in
the whirl of a fight. He was a spectator; one who saw other men being
forced out of a trap to their deaths. The arrows burned like tinder.
Whitey did not know that they were soaked in oil, brought along for the
purpose of firing the house.

There had been no rain for a week, so the roof was dry, and soon narrow,
snake-like lines of flame began to creep across it. Whitey thought of
the feelings of the imprisoned sheepmen, knowing what was going on
overhead, but helpless to prevent it. It seemed that they surely must
make some effort. Both sides had ceased firing. Then an idea occurred to
Whitey. Why did not the sheepmen escape from the back of the house? A
volley of shots from the other side of the valley seemed to answer the
question. Under cover of the darkness Mart Cooley had sent half his men
to a point that commanded the rear of the ranch house. Their shots
sounded continuously for a moment and told a plain story. The sheepmen
had tried to escape from the back, and had failed.

These shots told another story. Why were they not answered from the
hills? Because the hill men had joined their fellows in the ranch house.
All were cooped up there, making their choice of deaths; by fire or by
bullets. Anything would be better than the fire. Why didn't they do
something? Whitey found himself growing imp