The fire was burning briskly, but the green hides were cutting off the blaze to such an extent that it was impossible for them to see how many men were there and just what they were doing. The lighted lantern was sitting on the ground, but it did little to light up the scene. “Got to take a chance on ’em, Harp,” breathed Brick. “If they look this way they’ll see us. C’mon.” Slowly, cautiously, they raised up, gun in hand, and started to climb the fence. Someone picked up the lantern swung it around and the yellow light picked them up instantly. Came a quick word of warning, a guttural grunt, and the lantern was dashed out. Then a tongue of yellow light flashed at them, and Brick felt the bullet brush his cheek. He and Harp were only half-way up the side of the fence, and in a bad position to shoot. Brick climbed swiftly to the top, while Harp dropped to the ground and raced for the gate. Two more shots licked out into the night toward Brick, who was shooting at the flashes, while Harp was pounding along, trying to block the one exit. He gained the gate, shooting swiftly at a shadowy figure, when he felt a thudding blow against his shoulder and the gun fell from his fingers. Someone darted past him and faded into the night. Brick came running across the corral, calling to Harp, who was leaning against the fence, searching dizzily for the thing that was searing his shoulder. Brick almost ran into him. “Where’d they go, Harp?” he panted. “I dunno,” muttered Harp. “Come and help me, will yuh, Brick? I’ve got hit with somethin’.” “You got hit, Harp? For —— sake! Wait a minute.” Brick lighted a match and held it between them. Then he whistled softly. “Hang onto yourself, Harp,” he cautioned. “They knifed yuh. Grit yore teeth, cowboy.” They both grunted softly and Brick laughed shortly. “There she is, Harp. I don’t think it was deep enough to be dangerous. Does it hurt much?” “Not so much now.” Harp’s voice sounded weary. “The ——ed thing kinda paralyzed my whole arm. It feels a lot better, but it’s soakin’ me a-plenty. Didja get any of ’em, Brick?” “No, I don’t think so. How many did you see, Harp?” “Just one—the one that threw the knife at me. I think it was the squaw. Now what do we do?” “Go back and have your arm fixed up. Aw, ——, this was a fizzle. We don’t know any more than we did before, except that we’re dead sure that Mostano’s outfit are the meat-thieves.” Brick went over to the smoldering fire and kicked the green hides aside. The flames flared up, and as Brick leaned over to search for brands on the hides, a bullet splatted into the fire and threw sparks up into the air. Brick swore at himself for being such a fool, and ran back to Harp, dragging the hides with him. “We better be high-tailin’ it out of here,” panted Brick. “Can yuh run all right, cowboy?” “I never got hit in the leg,” retorted Harp. “—— this moonlight! C’mon!”