that when the cowhands came in from the round-up there would follow the
inevitable night at Brill's. Morrow had mapped out the raid long in
advance, engaging Lang to gather the cows throughout the first night
the round-up crew was in from the range and hold them a few miles from
the ranch. In case the freighters failed to leave before the others
came back from Brill's the raid would have been staged just the same;
men cached along the lip of the valley to pick off all those who should
attempt to ride down and turn the run; others ready to slip down from
behind and torch the buildings while the fight was going on in the
flat. Lang could not know that Slade was locked up and that Morrow was
dead so the raid had gone through as planned.

Smoke was rising from two more cabins in the flats and Harris
reproached himself for another oversight in allowing the wagons to pull
out before the others arrived. The crop would have been ruined in any
event but with the hands at home they could have prevented the
destruction of the cabins.

He turned to the opposite side and scanned the face of the hills for
signs of life. Not a sage quivered to show the position of bodies
crawling through the brush; no rattle of gravel indicated the presence
of men working down through any of the sheltered coulees behind; yet he
knew they were near. The silence was in sharp contrast to the rumble
and roar of the stampede just past. The only sounds which shattered
the quiet were the muffled thuds of Waddles's hand-axe as the cook
worked on a single idea and endeavored to gouge a loophole through the
cracks of the twelve-inch logs. Harris transferred his attention to
the long line of log buildings a hundred yards to the east. The row
afforded perfect cover for any who chose that route of approach. They
could walk up to them in absolute safety, screened both from himself
and those in the main house.

As he watched the doors and windows for sign of movement within a voice
hailed them from the shop.

"You might as well come out," it called. "We're going to fire the
plant."

Harris stretched prone on the floor and rested the muzzle of his rifle
on a crack between the logs. It was hard shooting. He was forced to
shift the butt end of the gun, moving with it himself to line the
sights instead of swinging the free end of the barrel. He trained it
on a crack some two feet from the door of the shop. Behind the
aperture the light of a window o