"Go in and tell them to put out the lights and stop that noise quick!" Scott's voice was hard and sharp. Polly darted into the house. Scott strained his eyes to watch the party of riders racking recklessly down the dark roadway from the hills. "It can't be Pachuca!" he muttered. "He wouldn't come back. It must be that damned young Angel. Well, I guess we're in for trouble before daybreak." "What is it?" Hard was at his elbow. Scott turned and saw that the house was dark. "It's a bunch on horseback--see, over yonder? They're making good time; they'll be on us in half a minute. Where's Herrick?" "Getting the rifles. Where are the horses?" "In the pasture, up by the river. They'll not find them in a hurry." "Hadn't we better have the women go up there, too?" said Hard, anxiously. "I don't believe so. If they're bound for us, there's no time. I think----" "Mr. Scott," Clara Conrad's voice came softly from the dark doorway, "if that's Angel Gonzales why can't we all go----" "I don't know who it is, and the moon's too strong out there--they'd spot you in a minute." "But we can't sit here and do nothing!" "You can do as you please." Scott's voice was ugly with the ugliness of strained nerves. "I say stick to shelter while you've got it." He drew his revolver as he spoke and examined it. "They're coming fast." Hard's voice was tense. Herrick carrying three rifles came out. "Get inside--everybody!" ordered Scott. The party had turned in from the road and were dashing toward them. Mrs. Conrad and Polly were already in the house. The men followed. "They ride like Indians, Hard; I believe it's Yaquis on the warpath!" He and Hard stationed themselves at the open windows in the darkness. "I'm for waiting till they attack us; what do you think?" "Yes. Let them make the first move." The intruders were at the gate. Now they swept in, a couple of score of them. They whirled and made for the barn. "They're Indians, all right," whispered Scott. "They're after the horses." The silence was complete for a few seconds, the women obediently crouching in the darkest corner scarcely seeming to breathe, Scott and Hard, hidden behind the light curtains, keeping their eyes fixed upon the swiftly moving figures outside, Herrick standing just within the doorway. Suddenly, cries broke the stillness. Two of the Yaquis who had entered the barn came out with the news. The yells were of rage. "No horses!" grinned Scott. "Their feelings are hurt. Here's where the play begins." "They're firing the barn," said Hard, grimly. They were. It blazed like a child's bonfire and the shouts and curses of the disappointed Yaquis rose with the flames. In another moment the Indians had ridden toward the house. Polly, who in spite of orders, had crept toward the window saw them in amazement. Between the moon and the light of the blazing barn, they were distinctly visible. "But they can't be Indians!" she exclaimed, at Scott's elbow. "They're just like our Mexicans!"