The insurrectos dashed toward the gate, with the gun, Hike ran after them, firing at Welch. He saw Welch rub his leg, as if winged, then swing about, still running, and fire. A bullet clipped a lock of Hike’s hair. He stopped, for a dozen insurrectos were facing about. Then, behind him, sounded Jack Adeler’s voice, “Come _on_!” and the patter of a dozen men running. At their head, Hike raced on, with Adeler. But by the time they reached the gate the insurrectos were off, on horseback, with the gun driven among them, in a fast light cart. Their shadows were already flashing along the moon-lit surface of the desert, among the thick gray patches of sage-brush and sparse grass. With the Lieutenant, Hike rushed to the stables, and the men saddled at fever-heat. Not a word was heard, except “Where’s my bridle?” “Tony, gimme some shells.” The bunch all swung to saddle, and went galloping out of the ranch gate, slanting through it like a train on a curve, firing at the retreating insurrectos. The Mexicans had stopped and formed about the cart, as a barricade. With rifles resting on the cart, they returned the fire. Tony Peries, at Hike’s side, silently dropped off his horse. A party of twenty insurrectos darted out from their main bunch and circled. “Back!” shrieked the Lieutenant. “Back, I tell you. We’ll get surrounded. They’re cutting us off.” “Aw—” came a yowl of protest from his men; but they turned and rode back to the ranch, as Adeler savagely shrieked “Back, I tell you,” again. Once inside the gate, they surrounded him, begging “Aw, let us at ’em.” “_No!_” snorted Jack. “I’m not leading any moving-picture-show charge. It’d be nice for all of us to get killed, ’cept that after that the insurrectos could do anything they wanted to. And they’d kill us, all right. They’re fifty to fifteen. And they ain’t fakers—they’re Welch’s Terrors—all of them horse-thieves or murderers, and all of them can ride. Ready now; they’ll be shelling us with our own machine-gun. Or no—they didn’t get the shells! Hurray, we surprised them before they could take anything but the gun! Who gave that quick alarm? Whoever did—” “It was Mr. Griffin,” said the man who had been on guard at the east gate. “Great! Hike,” declared the Lieutenant. “You saved us from losing shells, and all—if it hadn’t been for that alarm we’d be getting our own shells, right now.” “Please,” said a greaser, “I shoot Pedro—he let in the insurrectos.” “All right—bury him to-morrow,” said Adeler.