"You know the draw that runs down past his corral? Barb Doubleday, Pettigrew, Van Horn, Stone and a bunch of cowboys and Texas men lay in that draw. It was hell to pay from daylight till dark. The Dutchman got laid out cold right at the start. They tried to rush me. I stopped three of 'em and dug myself in. We went at it hammer and tongs. In the afternoon they put a hole through my whiskers. After awhile they clipped my shoulder. Then I got a bullet through my arm." He held up his left forearm swathed in a mass of soiled and blood-soaked bandages. And he told of Van Horn's go-devil. "The raid's on," muttered Laramie. "Soon as it was dark, I began to dig under the sill," Hawk went on. "They began lighting fires. I knew they couldn't keep those going a great while. About ten o'clock I crawled out under the front sill and got to the creek; I never was so gone for water in my life. I set a candle so it would fire the shack when it burned down and sneaked a horse from their bunch and got over to my place." He looked at his arm. "I tried to keep things bound up. Maybe I left a little red behind me. If I did, they'll be after me." His story haltingly told; his utterance through his torn cheek thick and painful but savagely uncompromising; carrying a physical burden of wounds that would have overwhelmed a lesser man but with a deadly hate showing in his manner, Hawk, from sheer weakness, paused: "I went to my cabin to look for more cartridges," he added slowly, "and not a one was there left on the place." He hesitated again. "I didn't want to come here----" Laramie sprang to his feet: "Where the hell else would you go?" Hawk heard unmoved the rough assurance; perhaps his eyes flashed, for Laramie's voice rang strong and true. He already had his hand on Hawk's chair: "Come over here to the light," he said, "till we get some of this dirt off you. You need a bath, Abe. For a clean man you look like----" Hawk put up his right hand: "I'll do for all the job that's left ahead of me." "What job's left ahead of you?" "You've got a rifle like mine, Jim; the Marlin you don't use." "Well?" "I come to see if you'd lend it to me again." "Why not?" "Got any shells for it?" snapped Hawk. "I guess so." "I left the horse at the cabin to stand 'em off awhile. They'll lose a little time there. They'll come down the creek--can't come any other way. I'm going to wait for 'em in the timber." "What for?" "I'll finish with Doubleday and Van Horn, anyhow. Maybe I can with Stone." "And they'll finish with you." "After I get them three the rest are welcome to what's left of me. I've got to be moving." "Hold on a minute, Abe." Laramie sat down on the side of his cot, his knees spread apart, his elbows resting on them, and his hands clasped as he leaned forward, head down, to think. "Them fellows are riding every minute," Hawk reminded him grimly. "Let's talk this thing over," persisted Laramie.