"You bet," replied Billy, satisfied. "Yessir, we can lick 'em--we've got to." On the west side of the mesa, back in the chaparral and out of sight of the rustlers, Pie Willis lay face down in the sand, quiet. Near him lay Frenchy McAllister, firing at intervals, aflame with anger and a desire to kill. Opposite him on the mesa, a scant three hundred yards away, two rustlers gloated and fired, eager to kill the other puncher, who shot so well. "That other feller knows his business, Elder," remarked Nevada as a slug ricochetted past his head. "Wonder who he is." "Wonder _where_ he is," growled Elder, firing at a new place. "He's been shifting a lot. Anyhow, we got one. There's so much smoke down there I can't seem to place him. Mebby--" he fell back, limp, his rifle clattering down a hundred feet of rock. Nevada looked at him closely and then drew back to a more secure position. "We're even, stranger, but we ain't quits, by a good deal!" He swore. _Zing-ing-ing!_ "Oh, you know I moved, do you!" he gritted. "Well, how's _that_!" _Spat_! a new, bright leaden splotch showed on the rock above his head and hot lead stung his neck and face as the bullet spattered. "I'll get you yet, you coyote!" he muttered, changing his position again. "Ah, _h--l_!" he sobbed and dropped his rifle to grasp his right elbow, shattered by a Winchester .45. Pain shot through every fibre of his body and weakened him so he could not crawl for shelter or assistance. He swayed, lost his balance and swayed further, and as his side showed beyond the edge of his rocky rampart he quivered and sank back, helpless, pain-racked, and bleeding to death from two desperate wounds. "We was--tricked--up here!" he moaned. "That must--be Red--Connors out there. Ah!" _Spat! Chug! Spat!_ But Nevada did not hear them now. Down in the chaparral, Frenchy, getting no response to his shots, picked up his glasses and examined the mesa. A moment later he put them back in the case, picked up his rifle and crawled towards his companion. "Pie!" he called, touching the body. "Pie, old feller! I got 'em both for you, Pie--got 'em--" screened by the surrounding chaparral he stood up and shook a clenched fist at the sombre, smoke-wreathed pile of rock and shouted: "An' they won't be all! Do you hear, you thieves? _They won't be all!_"