a moment,
although the sensation lasted longer. The moon suddenly brought the
whole thing into reality. Suspense was banished with its revealing
light, and each man, steady at his post, gripped his carbine or
revolver, ready to pour in a deadly fire the moment the word should be
given. A troop of about eighteen horsemen dashed round a bend of the
valley and plunged into the ambush.

Instantly Fyles's voice rang out. "Halt, or we fire!" he cried.

The horsemen drew rein at once, but the reply was a pistol-shot in
the direction whence his voice had sounded. The defiance was Tresler's
signal. He passed the word to his men, and a volley of carbine-fire
rang out at once, and confusion in the ranks of the horsemen followed
immediately.

Then the battle began in deadly earnest. The sheriff's men leapt into
their saddles, and advanced both in front and in rear of the trapped
raiders. And the cowpunchers came racing down from the corrals to hurl
themselves into the _melee_ whooping and yelling, as only men of their
craft can.

The fight waxed furious, but the odds were in favor of the ambush. The
clouded sky lent neither side much assistance. Now and again the
peeping moon looked down upon the scene as though half afraid to show
itself, and it was by those fleeting rays that the sheriff's men
leveled their carbines and poured in their deadly fire. But the
raiders were no mean foe. They fought desperately, and were masters in
the use of their weapons. Their confusion of the first moment passed
instantly, and they rode straight at Tresler's line of defense with a
determination that threatened to overwhelm it and force a passage. But
the coming of the cowpunchers stemmed the tide and hurled them back on
Fyles's force in their rear. Several riderless horses escaped in the
_melee_; nor were they only belonging to the raiders. One of the
"deputies" had dropped from his saddle right beside Tresler, and there
was no telling, in the darkness, how many others had met with a
similar fate. Red Mask's gang had been fairly trapped, and both sides
meant to fight to a finish.

All this time both Tresler and Fyles were looking out for the leader,
the man of all whom they desired to capture. But the darkness, which
had favored the ambuscade, now defeated their object. In the mob of
struggling humanity it was difficult enough to distinguish friend from
foe, let alone to discover any one person. The ranks of the "deputies"
had closed right i