s many of 'em I allow we won't see Montana ag'in
till we're angels; if there ain't, they won't see the Bar T. Now that's
the story. One other thing.

"Our guests are out in front. If yuh see any of 'em actin' funny or tryin'
to get away, put a hole in 'em an' end that right off. Hear that, boys?"
he yelled to the cowmen who were on the ground behind the defense.

"Yep," they shouted, and continued to chaff one another unmercifully in
the greatest good-humor.

The old story states that the Spartans prepared for the battle of
Thermopylae by oiling their bodies and brushing their hair, much to the
surprise of the Persians, who were forever wailing to their gods. This
story has come down to us to illustrate solid, supreme courage in the face
of certain death.

No less inspiring, though in a different way, was the preparation of
Jimmie Welsh and his nine sheepmen. They cracked jokes on the situation,
reminded one another of certain private weaknesses under fire, recalled
famous range yarns, and enumerated the several hundred things that were
going to happen to the enemy during the next few hours.

In all this banter the cowmen joined with their own well-flavored wit.

These facts have been given to show the natures of these men who made the
West; who carved, unasked, an empire for the profit of us who live now,
and who, in a space of less than forty years, practically passed from the
face of the earth. Trained by their environment, they finally conquered it
and left it to a more-civilized if softer generation.

At four o'clock of that afternoon came the first attack.

Stelton and his men were under a great disadvantage. In front of the
sheepmen's defense was a little plain some three hundred yards across
which was bare of any protection. The canopy of rock that overshadowed the
camp prevented attack from above or behind. There was nothing for it but
an onslaught in the face of a deadly fire.

Suddenly from around the butte that faced the camp poured the charge of
the cowboys. Instantly they scattered wide, adopting the circling Indian
mode of attack. On they raced to a distance of a hundred, then fifty
yards.

Then, as though by preconcerted word, the Winchesters of both parties
spoke, and the cowboys, turning at a sharp angle, galloped off out of
range with one riderless horse, and two men, clinging, desperately
wounded, to their pommels.

Jack Norton, one of the sheepmen, who had exposed himself for a better
s