them a moment
ago by the spurting flames from their guns. Then, "Got enough in
there?" came the snarling voice of Quinnion. "If you haven't, I'm
going to burn you out an' be damned to you!"

He got an answer he little expected. For Hampton, running out into the
open, now that he knew that Bud and Judith must be in the cabin, was
firing as he came. Burkitt's rifle spoke with his.

"Run for it, Shorty!" yelled Quinnion. "You know where. We're up
against the Blue Lake boys."

"Bud!" shouted Tommy. "Oh, Bud!"

"In the cabin," came Bud's ringing answer. "Give 'em hell, Tommy!
Coming!"

With his words came the sound of the door snapping back against the
wall, the reports of Tommy's rifle and Hampton's pumping hot lead after
two racing forms.

"They'll get away!" shouted Hampton, a sudden red rage upon him.
"Curse it! It's too dark----"

Then Tommy gave over shooting and yelled to Lee to hold his fire. For
instead of two there were three flying forms, three fast-racing,
blurring, shadowy shapes merging with the night. Pollock Hampton, his
rifle clubbed in his hand, was running with a college sprinter's speed
after Quinnion and Shorty, calling breathlessly:

"Look out, they'll get away!"

Once Quinnion stopped to shoot back. The hissing lead went wide of the
pursuer and he gave over firing and settled down to good, hard running,
disappearing from Hampton's staring eyes. But Shorty was still to be
seen, running heavily.

"Don't shoot, Bud!" cried Tommy again as two figures ran out of the
cabin. "Hampton's out there--the crazy fool----"

"Hampton, come back!" shouted Lee, running after him.

But Hampton was gaining on the heavy-set Shorty and had no thought of
coming back. Nor a thought of anything in all the wide world just then
but overtaking the flying figure in front of him. Shorty stumbled over
a fallen log and rose, cursing and calling:

"Chris! Lend a hand."

That little chance of an uprooted tree saved Hampton's life that night.
Shorty, falling, had dropped his gun and hurt his knee. For a moment
he groped wildly for the lost rifle, then ran on without it. Hampton
cleared the log, and with a yell rather befitting a victorious savage
than the young man whom Mrs. Langworthy hoped to call her son, threw
his long arms about Shorty's neck.

"I got him!" shouted Hampton. "By glory----"

Shorty drove a big brutal fist smashing into his captor's face. But
Hampton merely lowered his head,