changed his position. The other
men profited by his wise move. The volleys had merged into one
continuous rattling roar of rifle shots. Then came a sudden cessation
of reports, with silence of relief. The cabin was full of dust,
mingled with the smoke from the shots of Jean and his companions. Jean
heard the stifled breaths of the children. Evidently they were
terror-stricken, but they did not cry out. The women uttered no sound.

A loud voice pealed from behind the embankment.

"Come out an' fight! Do you Isbels want to be killed like sheep?"

This sally gained no reply. Jean returned to his post by the window and
his comrades followed his example. And they exercised extreme caution
when they peeped out.

"Boys, don't shoot till you see one," said Gaston Isbel. "Maybe after
a while they'll get careless. But Jorth will never show himself."

The rustlers did not again resort to volleys. One by one, from
different angles, they began to shoot, and they were not firing at
random. A few bullets came straight in at the windows to pat into the
walls; a few others ticked and splintered the edges of the windows; and
most of them broke through the clay chinks between the logs. It dawned
upon Jean that these dangerous shots were not accident. They were well
aimed, and most of them hit low down. The cunning rustlers had some
unerring riflemen and they were picking out the vulnerable places all
along the front of the cabin. If Jean had not been lying flat he would
have been hit twice. Presently he conceived the idea of driving pegs
between the logs, high up, and, kneeling on these, he managed to peep
out from the upper edge of the window. But this position was awkward
and difficult to hold for long.

He heard a bullet hit one of his comrades. Whoever had been struck
never uttered a sound. Jean turned to look. Bill Isbel was holding
his shoulder, where red splotches appeared on his shirt. He shook his
head at Jean, evidently to make light of the wound. The women and
children were lying face down and could not see what was happening.
Plain is was that Bill did not want them to know. Blaisdell bound up
the bloody shoulder with a scarf.

Steady firing from the rustlers went on, at the rate of one shot every
few minutes. The Isbels did not return these. Jean did not fire again
that afternoon. Toward sunset, when the besiegers appeared to grow
restless or careless, Blaisdell fired at something moving behi