n, and deemed it more prudent not to
take chances on the strength of his "charmed life."

And so the time passed. The sun was well on his march toward the
western horizon before there came a move on the part of the enemy, and
when it did come it was a startling one. Taking advantage of every bit
of cover, the astute mestizos had crept around the stockade till they
were in a position exactly behind the defenders. So that, in fact, for
the last half hour, the alert rifles of Coyote Pete and his companions
had been covering emptiness.

A yell as the attackers charged from the direction into which they had
covertly worked themselves apprised the besieged of what had happened.
Bitterly blaming his stupidity in not foreseeing such a move, Pete,
followed by the others, darted across the stockade. As they were
halfway across, however, a dozen or more heads appeared upon the
undefended top.

The insurrectos had determined on a bold rush, and unmolested they had
succeeded in scaling the walls on each other's shoulders.

"Good Lord!" groaned Pete, as he saw.

Despair was in the countenances of the others, but, even as they halted
in dismay at what seemed certain annihilation, a strange thing happened.

With a screaming, earsplitting roar, a white cloud swept from the
direction of the boiler house at the clustering forms on the top of the
stockade.

It was a column of live steam that swept them from their perches, like
dried leaves before a wind.

Buck Bradley's plan had worked with terrible effectiveness. Before the
rush of white-vapor the insurrectos melted away in a screaming, scalded
flurry. In less than two minutes after Jack had turned the steam on,
not a sign of them was to be seen.

"Hooray!" yelled the boys, carried away by the sudden relief of the
strain when it had seemed that all was over. "Hooray! We win!"

"Don't be premature!" admonished Buck gravely, as the column of steam
was shut off. "We ain't out of ther woods yet by a long shot. How
about it, Pete?"

The old plainsman tugged his sun-bleached moustache viciously.

"Why, boys," he declared emphatically, "them reptiles ain't begun ter
fight yet."

CHAPTER XXV.

THE LAST STAND.--CONCLUSION.

As the cow-puncher spoke, there came a sound from the direction of the
gate which was filled with sinister significance.

Thud! Thud!

It echoed hollowly within the stockade. Buck Bradley was quick to read
its meaning.

"They've got a