"You may fire whenever ready," mocked Hal. "Every shot you fire will be
a signal that will make my friends come faster."

Bang! It was the leader himself who fired. The bullet clipped off a
leaf within an inch of Sergeant Overton's ear.

Crack! The boyish young sergeant was all there with the grit. He fired
straight back at the leader, the bullet striking the rock before the
other's face.

Now two more shots clipped close to the young soldier. Hal answered with
one.

But he tried to steady himself. He realized that he had but three
fighting shots left, and that he must make them count.

"But maybe three are enough to last me as long as I'm going to live,
anyway," reflected Sergeant Overton grimly.

There was not much comfort in that thought, but Hal drew himself around
more behind the tree trunk in order to shield himself as much as
possible, although the tree trunk would be no real protection from
bullets.

The Army bullet, at an ordinary range, will pierce three solid feet of
standing oak.

CHAPTER XX

THE EIGHTH MOCCASIN APPEARS

"GIVE it up?" queried the leader.

"I answered you before on that head," retorted Sergeant Overton.

"Don't be a fool, kid. We don't want to hurt you. All we want is that
revolver."

"I don't want to give it up," rejoined Hal.

"You'd better!"

"It isn't mine to give, anyway. It belongs to the United States
Government."

"Uncle Sam will never see that revolver again," declared the leader of
the invaders, with profane emphasis. "And you'll never see your friends
again if you don't hit it fast for the ground."

"I'm here until further orders."

"You've got your orders!"

"I don't take any orders from you," retorted Hal with fine scorn.

"Open up on the fool, boys--all together!"

Three spurts of flame jetted out from the cover that the ruffians had
taken.

Hal steadied his arm by resting it across a branch before him, and fired
back, his aim, as before, at the leader.

He had the satisfaction of seeing that rascal's head duck below cover.

Though he could not know it then, Overton had clipped a lock of hair
from the fellow's hatless head.

Another volley, which Hal answered with another shot.

"What do you fellows want with guns if you can't shoot better!" hailed
Overton derisively.

He didn't want them to shoot any better, but he was trying to anger them
and thus make their shooting wilder.

"It won't take us more than half a minute more to get