In half an hour more the Revolver Riders and vigilantes came in sight, and camped in the valley below, as if they had come to stay and meant business. Kent King watched them holding councils of war with a sneer upon his handsome, but cruel, dissipated face, and in his eyes shone a triumphant light. When darkness at length came upon the scene, the camp fires were lighted below in the valley. It was evident that the vigilantes knew just where their game was, and intended to starve them out, knowing that the entrance to the rocky bowl, or cañon, where the renegades were, was under their control, and escape could be prevented. About midnight the settlers moved to the attack from different points, verging toward the pass leading to the retreat. Without, the rattle of firearms made lively music. The bandits met them with coolness. Their deadly fire beat off the assailants, who were forced to retire to their camp and plan some other method of attack. Thus the night and following day passed, and the vigilantes remained camped in the valley below. As soon as darkness came on, Kent King went the round of his forces, and then suddenly disappeared from the sight of his men. Gaining a secluded spot among the rocks, where a number of horses were picketed, he quickly bridled and saddled his own animal, and, mounting, rode quietly away. Taking a path that led still farther up the mountain, a most hazardous trail to follow even in daylight, he went fearlessly along, until he reached the summit of the hill, along the ridge of which he rode for half a mile. Coming to a thicket of pines, he entered it, and found a path leading down the mountainside, opposite to the one on which the vigilantes were encamped. Gaining the valley and a broad trail, he was about to urge his horse into a gallop, when he heard the clink of iron against rock. Instantly he dashed into the shelter of some huge bowlders, for he knew that horsemen were coming. There he quietly awaited. Presently dark forms came in sight, two horsemen abreast, and fully a hundred in number. At their head he recognized by the starlight one whom he knew to be leading the vigilantes and Revolver Riders to his stronghold. It was Prairie Pete, one of the best guides on the plains and in the mountains, and the direction in which he was riding proved that he knew the secret, though dangerous, path to the retreat. They passed within six feet of the bowlder, over the top of which the outlaw looked. It was a moment of fearful suspense to him, for a movement of his horse, or a rider swerving from the trail, would have betrayed him. With a sigh of relief, he saw them pass on. Then, though he knew he could dash across a nearer path, gain the secret trail and warn his men, who could, thus warned, easily beat off their foes, he rode on his way, saying savagely: