“Aw, shucks!” grumbled Billy, suddenly, breaking the suspense. And standing boldly, he strode to the smouldering camp-fire and thrust a bit of paper into the live ashes. He made a plain target, but he did not seem to care, and waited for the paper to flare. In the flare they all stared around; the mules were the first things noted――but Mr. Baxter exclaimed: “Look at Left-over! By jiminy, he is wounded! Start that fire more or make a torch so we can see. Wait a minute, Left-over.” Left-over certainly presented an alarming sight. His face was welling blood, which streamed down upon his chest. His eyes rolled and he groaned dismally. As Billy made another flare, Jim, nearest to Left-over, hastily examined, with eyes and deft fingers, Left-over groaning now terribly. “Don’t find anything――there ain’t any new hole; mostly mouth,” Jim reported. “Can’t you hold your yawp, Left-over, long enough to tell us what happened to you?” “I saw the Injuns sneaking up and we all shot at the same time, and I killed them and they killed me,” sobbed Left-over. “If you don’t believe me go out and look.” “I know,” quoth Billy Cody. “That gun kicked him in the face and plumb broke his nose! She was loaded to do business.” “Huh!” grunted Left-over, venturing to sit up and feel of his face. “If you fellows’ll watch I’ll scout around a bit and see what’s what outside,” proffered Billy. “I keep seeing something lying out yonder. Shouldn’t wonder if Left-over did kill an Injun.” The lightning was fitful but incessant; its pallid flashes played over the landscape――momentarily revealing the drooping mules, the spots of sage, the wagon, the faces on Davy’s right and left, and (as seemed to Davy) exposing, for a brief instance, a dark mass lying farther out on the prairie. “Well――――” began Captain Hi; but he was interrupted. As if borne on the wings of a sudden cool gust from the west there came fresh blare of thunder and glare of lightning. Peal succeeded peal, flash succeeded flash, with scarce an interval. Hi’s voice rang sternly. “Billy, you and Dave see to those mules, quick, or they’ll stampede. The rest of you pitch what stuff you can into the wagon and stretch guy-ropes to hold her down. This is an old rip-snorter of a storm, and it’s coming with its head down and tail up!” Nobody paused to question or debate. The storm seemed right upon them. Following Billy, Dave leaped for the mules. “Tie ’em to the wagon wheels,” yelled Billy, in the pale glare tugging at a picket pin. He and Davy hauled the mules along to the wagon, where Hi and Jim, Mr. Baxter and even the gory Left-over were hustling frantically to put things under cover and make the wagon fast with guy-ropes stretched taut over the top. But the storm scarcely waited. The bellow of the thunder and the fierce play of the lightning increased. There was a pause, a patter, a swift gust; and rushing out of the inky night charged the rain.