Along the narrow trail up the mesa's face a man toiled heavily and it was not long before Doc Riley opened fire from the rear. The three rustlers, besieged from all sides, found their positions to be most desperate and knew then that only a few minutes intervened between them and eternity. They had three choices--to surrender, to die fighting, or to leap from the mesa to instant death below. Shaw, to his credit, chose the second and like a cornered wolf goaded to despair leaped up and forward to take a gambler's chance of gaining the hut. Before him were Hopalong, Meeker, Johnny, and Doc. Doc was hastily reloading his Colt, Johnny was temporarily out of sight as he crawled around a bowlder, and Hopalong was greatly worried by ricochettes and wild shots from the rifles of his friends which threatened to end his career. Meeker alone was watching at that moment but his attention was held by the rustler near the edge of the mesa who was trying to shrink himself to fit the small rock in front of him and to use his gun at the same time. Shaw sprang from his cover and straight at the H2 foreman, his foot slipping slightly as he fired. The bullet grazed Meeker's waist, but the second, fired as the rustler was recovering his balance, bored through Meeker's shoulder. The H2 foreman, bending forward for a shot at the man behind the small rock, was caught unawares and his balance, already strained, was destroyed by the shock of the second bullet, and he flopped down to all fours. Shaw sprang over him just as Hopalong and Johnny caught sight of him and he swung his revolver on Hopalong at the moment when the latter's bullet crashed through his brain. Buck Peters, trying for a better position, slipped on the rock which had been the cause of the death of George Cross and before he could gain his feet a figure leaped down in front of him and raised a Colt in his defence, but spun half way around and fell, shot through the head. A cry of rage went up at this and a rush was made against the breastworks from front and side. Frenchy McAllister's forebodings had come true. Sanchez, finding his revolver empty and with no time to reload, held up his hands. Frisco, blinded by blood, wounded in half a dozen places, desperate, snarling, and still unbeaten, wheeled viciously, but before he could pull his trigger, Hopalong grasped him and hurled him down, Johnny going with them. Doc, a second too late, waved his sombrero. "Come on, it's all over!" In another second the rushing punchers from the front slid and rolled and plunged over the breastwork and eyed the results of their fire. Meeker staggered around the corner and leaned against Buck for support. "My G-d! This is awful! I didn't think we were doing so much damage." "I did!" retorted Buck. "I know what happens when my outfit burns powder. Where's Red?" he asked anxiously. "Here I am," replied a voice behind him.