main ladder bow and sway.

One of the upper men crawled through the rungs to wedge himself between
the top and the cliff. The third man handed up the short ladder and
began to creep down again. The second topman gingerly hoisted the last
link in the shaky line of ascent.

The Apaches lying out from the cliff concentrated their fire on the
opening above the ladder. For any one in the cliff house to have
ventured into the doorway would have meant certain death.

Protected by the storm of bullets, the topmost Apache held up the last
ladder while his mate against the cliff spliced it fast. The top rung
stood level with the sill of the doorway.

The third man had stopped his descent ten or fifteen feet below. As soon
as the splicing was secure, the first man drew something from the belt
of his breech-clout and started up the last rungs.

Lennon could restrain himself no longer. He thrust his rifle forward to
take aim. From beside him a big hairy red hand reached out to clutch the
barrel. Slade's deep voice growled a command:

"Wait! If they ain't got Carmena a'ready----"

"But if once he gets in!" cried Lennon. "He must have a revolver!"

"Knife too," added Slade. "Wait, though. We'll all put our sights on
him. But don't shoot unless he gits half through the door."

A glance at the Navahos showed Lennon that they were already taking aim.
The trader clearly had some good reason for waiting. Lennon nodded.

"Very well," he agreed.

Slade drew back his hand. As Lennon again took aim he saw the first of
the Apache attackers thrust up an arm to grasp the corner of the sill
stone. The man paused while the riflemen poured an extra violent volley
of bullets into the doorway. He then made a quick gesture.

The shots continued, but they were aimed high. Otherwise the attacker
must have been struck as he flung himself up before the opening. The
catlike movement brought him head and shoulders above the sill. He
twisted forward to writhe into the doorway. Lennon's finger started to
crook against the trigger of his rifle. But he did not fire.

Instead of thrusting forward, the Apache straightened upright with
convulsive suddenness. His out-clutching arms beat the empty air. He
toppled sideways and plunged headlong.

"Through the brain!" chuckled Slade. "No, they ain't got Carmena--yet."

CHAPTER XIX

OUT OF THE FRYING PAN----

Before the falling Apache smashed down upon the cliff foot the man who
had last clim