. When they get up
there I'm damned if it won't be hot for us. There ain't room for all
of us to hide here."

Ladd raised himself to peep over the rim. Shots were now scattering,
and all appeared to come from below. Emboldened by this he rose
higher. A shot from in front, a rip of bullet through the choya, a
spat of something hitting Ladd's face, a steel missle hissing
onward--these inseparably blended sounds were all registered by Gale's
sensitive ear.

With a curse Ladd tumbled down into the hole. His face showed a great
gray blotch, and starting blood. Gale felt a sickening assurance of
desperate injury to the ranger. He ran to him calling: "Laddy! Laddy!"

"Shore I ain't plugged. It's a damn choya burr. The bullet knocked it
in my face. Pull it out!"

The oval, long-spiked cone was firmly imbedded in Ladd's cheek. Blood
streamed down his face and neck. Carefully, yet with no thought of
pain to himself, Gale tried to pull the cactus joint away. It was as
firm as if it had been nailed there. That was the damnable feature of
the barbed thorns: once set, they held on as that strange plant held
to its desert life. Ladd began to writhe, and sweat mingled with the
blood on his face. He cursed and raved, and his movements made it
almost impossible for Gale to do anything.

"Put your knife-blade under an' tear it out!" shouted Ladd, hoarsely.

Thus ordered, Gale slipped a long blade in between the imbedded thorns,
and with a powerful jerk literally tore the choya out of Ladd's
quivering flesh. Then, where the ranger's face was not red and raw, it
certainly was white.

A volley of shots from a different angle was followed by the quick ring
of steel bullets striking the lava all around Gale. His first idea, as
he heard the projectiles sing and hum and whine away into the air, was
that they were coming from above him. He looked up to see a number of
low, white and dark knobs upon the high point of lava. They had not
been there before. Then he saw little, pale, leaping tongues of fire.
As he dodged down he distinctly heard a bullet strike Ladd. At the
same instant he seemed to hear Thorne cry out and fall, and Lash's
boots scrape rapidly away.

Ladd fell backward still holding the .405. Gale dragged him into the
shelter of his own position, and dreading to look at him, took up the
heavy weapon. It was with a kind of savage strength that he gripped
the rifle; and it was with a cold and deadly in