The loneliness of the country struck Bertram as amazing. They had passed by no ranch houses on the road during the journey of the invaders from the railroad terminus. The blacksmith shop was undoubtedly the first outpost of civilization. All else was given over to unfenced prairie. As the light grew stronger, and the bird sounds more pronounced, Bertram heard the sound of firing from the direction in which the raiders had gone. There was a heavy volley, succeeded by firing at irregular intervals. Being without any definite purpose in mind Bertram determined to make his way as close as possible to the firing and observe what was going on. Sheltered in the trees on the sides of the foothills the task was not difficult. From one glade he caught a glimpse of the blacksmith shop and saw that the mess wagons and bed wagons were grouped about the building. From the smoke he judged that the cooks were getting breakfast. Pushing on, but always keeping in the shelter of the trees, Bertram advanced nearly a mile. The sound of firing grew more distinct, as he went on. There were no more volleys. Evidently the men were firing at random, but shooting steadily. When he judged that he was about opposite the scene of the combat, Bertram tied his horse in a clump of quaking asp and made his way cautiously to the edge of a clearing, where he could command a view of the scene below. Through the binoculars, which he always carried, he watched with interest the development of a drama which had already taken the form of tragedy. In the center of a considerable tract of cleared land stood a cabin. It was a small cabin, evidently not more than one room, but stoutly built of logs. There was no porch, but close to the single step, leading to the front door, lay the figure of a man, evidently dead. A water bucket, upturned, was near his outstretched hand. “They didn’t give him a chance, the curs! They must have shot him as he started to the spring for water,” said Bertram aloud, noticing the well-worn trail from the door to a small ravine, one hundred yards or more away. Sounds of firing came from the ravine and from the clumps of trees on all sides of the clearing in which the house stood. Answering shots came from the house. It was evident that the defense was being put up by one man, an expert marksman. “He must have hit some of ’em right at the start,” muttered Bertram, “or they’d have rushed the house.” The cabin seemed to be liberally provided with loopholes, as shots came from all sides. The lone defender, plainly enough, was distributing his shots impartially, keeping a good lookout to see that no parties gained the shelter of the cabin walls.