nd the bunk house were wrecked.
The clock, the pride of the foreman, stood with half its wheels buried in
the wall behind it by a .50 caliber slug, its hands pointing to half-past
one. Lead filled the interior walls, where opposite windows, and the
holes and splinters were a disgrace. Sombreros, equipment and the few
pictures the walls boasted were like tops of pepper shakers. No sooner was
a light shown than it became the target for a shot, and more than one
wound gave proof as to the accuracy of the perpetrator. So tired that
they fell asleep at supper, the men were constantly awakened by the noise
of devastation and the whining hum of the bullets. Pursuit was a failure,
and was also hazardous, as proven by Bert Hodge's arm, broken by a .50
caliber slug from somewhere.

The two houses, wrecked as they were, were fortunate when compared to
the condition of the other appurtenances of the ranch. Horses were
found dead at all points, and always with a bullet hole in the center
of the forehead. The carcasses of cows dotted the plain, and fire had
half-destroyed the three corrals. The three new cook wagons, unsheltered,
were denuded of bolts and nuts, and their tarpaulins were hopelessly
ruined. A wheel was missing from each of them and their poles had been
cut through in the middle, the severed ends being found on the roof of
the ranch house three minutes after their crashing descent had
awakened the foreman, who heard the hum and thud of a bullet as he opened
the door. The best grass had been burned off and the outfit had fought
fire on several nights when it should have slept. And the small water
hole near the cook shack, which furnished water for the bunk house,
had been cleared of a dead calf on two mornings. Scouting was of no
avail, for the few remaining horses (which now spent the night in the
bunk house) were as exhausted as their riders. Keeping guard was a
farce, for it had been tried twice, and the guards had fallen asleep;
and, awakened by their foreman at dawn, found that their rifles,
sombreros and even their spurs were missing. With all his hatred for The
Orphan, Sneed was fair-minded enough to give his enemy credit for being
the better man. When the harassing outrages had first begun and the
foreman and his men were comparatively fresh, he had given the matter
his whole attention; and he was no fool. But he had gained nothing but a
sense of defeat, which fact did not improve his peace of mind or
cause him t