ay old Benson began to lead the
way down the mountain side toward a stretch of timber running within
half a mile of the fort.

While they were in the midst of the forest a distant firing broke upon
their ears.

"Is that from the fort?" asked Joe quickly.

"Reckon it is, lad," replied the old scout.

"Then our signals haven't done any good."

"Perhaps they have. But it may be that others have been out spying, and
they have brought in the same report that Potts and his crowd were
carrying."

As they advanced the firing died away for half an hour, but then it was
renewed with vigor.

Coming to another hilltop, they could see the flashes, of fire as the
rifles and cannon were discharged.

The Indians and desperadoes had approached Fort Carson in the darkness,
hoping to catch those inside napping.

But the regulars had opened the firing, and two Indians were killed at
the very outset.

The red men had brought forward a large quantity of brush, and at the
risk of their lives they heaped this against the wooden stockade.

When Joe and the others who were with him gained the plains surrounding
the stronghold they saw that the brush was burning at a lively rate.

"They are firing the fort!" cried Darry. "Heaven have mercy on those
inside!"

"I see nothing of Indians or desperadoes," said Joe. "Where have they
gone, Benson?"

"Reckon they didn't like those last signals," answered the old scout.

From a distance they watched the burning of the brush with interest.
Here and there they saw the stockade take fire, and then saw a blaze on
the stable within the fort yard.

"The fire has reached inside!" groaned Joe. "The place is doomed!"

"Come on! There is no use of our staying here longer!" cried Benson, and
led the way across the plain, now lit up by the conflagration beyond. He
forced Potts with him.

Suddenly several shots rang out, and Joe felt a bullet graze his hand.
Then he saw Cass pitch forward on his face, and heard Potts give a yell
of mortal agony.

"Poor Cass, he's a goner!" muttered Bernstein. "And the desperado is
dead, too."

No more was said, for all felt they must run as never before, if they
would save themselves. Soon the gully was reached, and they dropped to
shelter. But no more shots followed, and in a few minutes more they were
close to the burning stockade.

"Friends!" shouted Benson, to a guard. "Don't shoot! Come out here and
put out the fire!"

"Is that you?" came from Capta