ropped down and
crawled presently to the shelter of a boulder, from which he could look
out upon the open and fairly level field known as the Port of Missing
Men. There as a boy he had dreamed of battles as he pondered the legend
of the Lost Legion. At the far edge of the field was a fringe of stunted
cedars, like an abatis, partly concealing the old barricade where, in
the golden days of their youth, he had played with Shirley at storming
the fort; and Shirley, in these fierce assaults, had usually tumbled over
upon the imaginary enemy ahead of him!

As he looked about he saw Armitage, his horse at a walk, ride slowly out
of the wood at his right. Claiborne jumped up and waved his hat and a
rifle-ball flicked his coat collar as lightly as though an unseen hand
had tried to brush a bit of dust from it. As he turned toward the
marksman behind the cedars three shots, fired in a volley, hummed about
him. Then it was very still, with the Sabbath stillness of early morning
in the hills, and he heard faintly the mechanical click and snap of the
rifles of Chauvenet's party as they expelled their exploded cartridges
and refilled their magazines.

"They're really not so bad--bad luck to them!" he muttered. "I'll be ripe
for the little brown men after I get through with this;" and Claiborne
laughed a little and watched Armitage's slow advance out into the open.

The trio behind the barricade had not yet seen the man they had crossed
the sea to kill, as the line of his approach closely paralleled the long
irregular wall with its fringe of cedars; but they knew from Claiborne's
signal that he was there. The men had picketed their horses back of the
little fort, and Claiborne commended their good generalship and wondered
what sort of beings they were to risk so much upon so wild an adventure.

Armitage rode out farther into the opening, and Claiborne, with his eyes
on the barricade, saw a man lean forward through the cedars in an effort
to take aim at the horseman. Claiborne drew up his own rifle and blazed
away. Bits of stone spurted into the air below the target's elbow, and
the man dropped back out of sight without firing.

"I've never been the same since that fever," growled Claiborne, and
snapped out the shell spitefully, and watched for another chance.

Being directly in front of the barricade, he was in a position to cover
Armitage's advance, and Oscar, meanwhile, had taken his cue from Armitage
and ridden slowly into th