The bright sunlight crept down the foothills and flooded the scene of battle. Still the fight went on. One hour passed--then two. The man in the cabin seemed to have an unlimited supply of ammunition. If he could manage to hold out much longer, perhaps the countryside would be aroused and come to his rescue. Bertram knew from the talk of Swingley and others that there were many ranches between this outpost and the county seat, where the invaders had planned to dispossess the sheriff and strike their heaviest blow. If they were delayed too long, their surprise march would be futile. The Texan could imagine how Swingley was fuming at the unexpected resistance, and how he was urging the cowboys to renewed efforts to “get” their man. But, in spite of the countless shots that were directed at the windows and loopholes on all sides of the cabin, not a bullet seemed to take effect. The return fire came steadily from the cabin--first from one side and then from another. Bertram saw two cowboys being led away from the field of battle, evidently victims of the man who was fighting against such odds. “Unless they’ve got something up their sleeve,” thought Bertram, “Swingley’s men might as well move on. This man seems to have plenty of ammunition, judging from the free and easy way he is firing, and he can keep up this long-range fighting all day, unless a chance bullet hits him.” Hardly had the thought crossed his mind when, under cover of unusually heavy firing from that side, Bertram saw a two-wheeled armored device, similar to the one he had recently smashed, being pushed along the road that led from the highway to the house. “By the gods, Swingley has had his way in spite of me!” ejaculated Bertram. “Blacksmith Jim must have come up and told them how to fit those scraper irons to another pair of wheels.” Slowly the improvised war engine moved toward the house, under a concentrated fire of rifles. Bertram, from his elevated position, could catch a glimpse of the feet of the men behind the armor, as they pushed the go-devil toward the cabin. The lone defender of the ranch house sensed the danger to which he was exposed by this new element in the fight. He fired shot after shot at the advancing go-devil, but still it came on. Bertram watched intently. At first he thought it was the intention of the men to reach a loophole or a window and fire through it, but he soon saw that such was not their idea. A bundle of straw was tossed over the top of the go-devil, against the cabin door. Another bundle followed, and then the go-devil was slowly backed away from the cabin. “Burning him out, as if he might be a wolf, without a chance for his life!” exclaimed Bertram, striking his forehead in anger. “I’ll bet Ace Swingley himself is behind that go-devil. No one else could think up such a plan and carry it out.”