Something did pop. The firing from the Happy Heart culminated in a terrific volley, and then ceased abruptly. "That's funny," commented Loudon. "It can't---- They're sliding out!" Which latter remark was called forth by a sudden outburst of firing from the corral where Johnny and Chuck were stationed. Loudon and Laguerre ran out the back way. The former's surmise was correct. The Happy Heart defenders had broken cover and reached the big corral behind the saloon. Four of them were down in front of the corral gate. They would never pull trigger again. But the others, in number a score or more, had reached their horses and were pouring out of the gate in the far side of the corral. Loudon perceived that the two riders in the lead were mounted on Brown Jug and the gray. These two kept together. The remaining fugitives wisely fled separately and in many directions. Loudon and Laguerre did not fire. The range was a long six hundred yards; too long for accurate shooting when the target is astride a racing horse. Imbued with the same idea they ran to their horses, flipped the reins over their heads, and jammed their Winchesters into the scabbards. Both ponies were galloping at full speed when the two were settled in their saddles. "We can not catch dem!" cried Laguerre ten minutes later. "We'll try, anyhow," replied Loudon, standing up in the stirrups to ease his horse, and wishing that he had ridden Ranger. Half an hour later it became obvious that pursuit was useless. Brown Jug and the gray had the legs of the pursuer's horses. The sun was setting, too. Loudon and Laguerre pulled in their panting mounts. "Here comes Johnny an' Chuck," said Loudon. "Could yuh tell who they was?" demanded Johnny, breathlessly. "They kept their backs to us," Loudon replied, drily, "an' they didn't leave any cards." "Ain't got no manners at all," said Johnny Ramsay. "They're headin' northwest, an' they shore ought to get there. C'mon back, I'm dry." "They was seven 88 ponies in Block's corral," said Chuck Morgan. "Let's hurry. Maybe we can get the owners yet." "If they ain't already been got," said Johnny Ramsay. "Seven 88 ponies," repeated Loudon. "I seen 'em in the corral, but I couldn't see the brand. Seven. That means seven o' the outfit was in Farewell, an' more'n seven, maybe. I don't believe Blakely was there. He's been mighty cautious lately. Well, anyhow, countin' seven at Farewell, there'd ought to be eight more at the four line-camps. Rudd's quit, an' Marvin is hogtied, an' Shorty Simms is dead. Accordin' to my figurin', that makes eighteen." "Yo're well educated, Mr. Loudon," said Johnny Ramsay. "Correct. Well, then, unless Blakely has hired a bunch o' new men, which ain't likely, then eighteen from twenty-five leaves seven."