men. They flopped back again, thus
exposing themselves to Sanderson's fire, and the latter lost not one of
his opportunities.

It was the aggressors themselves that were now under cross fire, and
they relished it very little.

A big man, incensed at his inability to silence Sanderson, and wounded
in the shoulder, suddenly left the shelter of his rock and charged
across the steep face of the slope toward the fissure.

This man was brave, despite his associations, but he was a Dale man,
and deserved no mercy. Sanderson granted him none. Halfway of the
distance between his rock and the fissure he charged before Sanderson
shot him. The man fell soundlessly, turning over and over in his
descent to the bottom of the defile.

And then rose Williams' voice--Sanderson grinned with bitter humor:

"We've got them, boys; we've got them. Give them hell, the damned
buzzards!"

CHAPTER XXVIII

NYLAND MEETS A "KILLER"

Ben Nyland had gone to Lazette to attend to some business that had
demanded his attention. He had delayed going until he could delay no
longer.

"I hate like blazes to go away an' leave you alone, here--to face that
beast, Dale, if he comes sneakin' around. But I reckon I've just got
to go--I can't put it off any longer. If you'd only go an' stay at
Bransford's while I'm gone I'd feel a heap easier in my mind."

"I'm not a bit afraid," Peggy declared. "That last experience of
Dale's with Sanderson has done him good, and he won't bother me again."

That had been the conversation between Ben and Peggy as Ben got ready
to leave. And he had gone away, half convinced that Peggy was right,
and that Dale would not molest her.

But he had made himself as inconspicuous as possible while in Okar,
waiting for the train, and he was certain that none of Dale's men had
seen him.

Nyland had concluded his business as quickly as possible, but the best
he could do was to take the return train that he had told Peggy he
would take. That train brought him back to Okar late in the afternoon
of the next day.

Ben Nyland had been born and raised in the West, and he was of the type
that had made the West the great supply store of the country. Rugged,
honest, industrious, Ben Nyland had no ambitions beyond those of taking
care of his sister--which responsibility had been his since the death
of his parents years before.

It had not been a responsibility, really, for Nyland worshiped his
sister, and it had be