They ducked low and started back toward the house, running as fast as possible. A rifle bullet screamed past them and hit the old ranch-house a resounding _thwack_. Brick had glimpsed the flash of the rifle and knew that the shooter was off to their right; so he ducked to the left and led the way around the other side of the ranch-house, where he halted their headlong flight. They were in the heavy shadow now. Brick stepped back to the corner and peered in the direction where he had seen the flash, but the light was not good enough to distinguish objects clearly. The fire in the corral was blazing merrily, painting the old pole corral with red high-lights. “We’ve got to bust out across that open space to the horses,” declared Brick. “Mebbe we better separate quite a ways apart, ’cause one man is a hard target in this light.” They went to the other corner of the house and looked in the direction of the horses. Brick grasped Harp by the arm and pointed toward the bluff trail, where two shadowy objects were plainly visible in the moonlight, going away. “Our broncs!” snorted Harp. “By ——, they’ve set us on foot, Brick!” “It sure has all the earmarks of such a deed,” agreed Brick sadly. “Our rifles are on them saddles, too; and we’ll have one sweet waltz home, cowboy. How’s the arm?” “Feels kinda numb, but I think it has quit bleedin’. I don’t care a dang how sore it gets, but I can’t afford to lose a lot of blood. What’s the next thing to do, I wonder?” “Walk home, I reckon.” “Yeah—and get plugged when we start.” “Looks that-a-way,” reflected Brick, squinting out into the hazy distance. “We bit off more than we could chaw, cowboy. If we’d had any sense we’d ’a’ cached them broncs.” “Hind-sight ain’t noways valuable,” sighed Harp, and a moment later a bullet showered splinters off the side of the house. They dropped flat on the ground and swore foolishly. “Somebody is prospectin’,” opined Harp. “A foot lower and they’d ’a’ made a strike. Mebbe yuh like this, Brick, but old man Harris’ offspring desires a change of climate. Right above me is a window-sill, Brick; and from my point of view, I’d rather be inside that house.” “Might be a happy idea,” admitted Brick. “Get up and see if the window is locked.” “Thank yuh very kindly—but that ain’t my suggestion, Brick.” Brick slid to a crouching position, straightened up close to the wall and examined the window. It slid up silently. “C’mon,” whispered Brick. Swiftly they slid in through the window and the cheap calico curtain dropped behind them, leaving them in total darkness. * * * * * Silent Slade lowered his head and looked at himself in the back-bar mirror. He tilted his hat down over his eyes, lifted his head as he sang— “When I’m dead don’t bury me a-ta-a-a-a-all, Pickle m’ bones in alcoho-o-o-ol. Put a bottle of boo-o-o-oze at m’ head and feet And then I kno-o-ow I’ll surely kee-e-ep.”