“Think this over well before you make a move!” warned the scout. Suddenly, as by a preconcerted signal, Klinger and Prouther hurled themselves at Buffalo Bill. He received them--and they must have been astonished at the manner of their reception. The scout’s fists shot out right and left like the piston-rods of a locomotive. Prouther and Klinger reeled back under the impact of the blows. With an oath, the other man fumbled at his revolver. Before he could draw it, the scout leaped into the air, after the manner of a French savateur, and kicked the weapon out of his hand. Nomad, who had been watching proceedings with cat-like vigilance, threw open the door and the scout faded inside the cabin. When the wrathful cowboys pulled themselves together, only the blank expanse of the door faced them. Yelling furiously, they began slamming bullets into the stout oak barrier. Those behind heard the shooting and likewise opened a fusillade. “All we can do now,” said Nate Dunbar, his face white and set, “is to give them as good as they send--or better.” “Wait!” interposed the scout, “we’re not in the last ditch yet.” “What d’ye want ter wait fer, Buffler?” spoke up old Nomad. “All them thar ijuts aire in plain sight. We kin pick ’em off in one, two, three style.” “We’re not here to pick anybody off, Nick,” said the scout. “We’re here to save Nate Dunbar, and not to make this matter any worse than it is. Let them waste their ammunition on the walls of the cabin, if they want to. It’s not hurting us, and it’s allowing some of their steam to escape. Maybe they won’t be under such high pressure after they shoot a while.” For a minute or two the bullets continued to thump against the cabin walls. After that there came an interval of silence while the cowboys moved farther back into the timber. From the loopholes they could be seen preparing torches. “They’re going to fire the house!” gasped Perry. “Them fellers’ll do anythin’,” averred Sim Pierce. “They’re crazy mad. When they come ter think this over termorrer, they’ll wonder how the blazes they ever let their senses run away from ’em in this way. It’s a rough bizness, an’ no mistake.” “They’ll not fire the house,” said Buffalo Bill. “In order to do that, they’ll have to come within range of our guns. They have at least sense enough to understand that we can pick them off as fast as they come at us with their torches.” But, in this, the scout was mistaken. The H-P men had taken the box from a lumber wagon, and were manipulating it in such a way that half a dozen of them could carry it and advance with it for a breastwork. “Thet’s er whale of er idee!” growled the old trapper. “I reckon et kyboshes us some, too. Hey, Buffler?” The scout peered gravely at the advancing wagon box. It moved forward for a dozen feet, and then rested. During the rest, Prouther showed himself, and the other cowboys advanced a little. “We’re goin’ ter give ye another chance!” yelled Prouther.