"On our way now," replied Johnny. "Come down here to learn what was happenin'. Meet Red Connors, an old friend of Waffles." "Howd'y," grunted the puncher, looking at Red with a keener interest. "You fellers are lucky--_we_ got to stay here an' miss it all. Walt come down last night an' said Kane's goin' to be a hard nut to crack. He's fixed up like a fort." "Reckon we'll take a look at it," said Johnny, wheeling. "Hey! If you want to find Mac, he's hangin' out at Quayle's." Johnny waved his thanks and rode on with his cheerful companion. In due time they heard the distant firing and not much later rode up to Quayle's back door and went in. McCullough was raging at the effectiveness of the sharpshooters on Kane's roof who had succeeded in keeping the fight at long range and who dominated certain strategic positions which the trail-boss earnestly desired to make use of; all of which made him irritable and unusually gruff. "Where _you_ been?" he demanded as Johnny entered. "Locatin' a missin' herd of yore cattle," retorted Johnny, nettled by the tone. "They're waitin' for you when you get time to go after 'em. Now we'll locate them sharpshooters. Anythin' else you can't do, let us know. Come on, Red," and he went out again, his grinning friend at his heels. At the door Red checked him. "Looks like a long-range job, Kid. My gun's all right for closer work, but I ought to have a Sharp's for this game." Johnny wheeled and went back. "Gimme a Sharp's," he demanded. "Take Wilson's--they got him yesterday," growled the trail-boss, pointing. Johnny took the gun and the cartridge belt hanging on it, joined Red and led the way to a place he had in mind. Reaching the selected spot, an adobe hut on the remote outskirts of the sprawled town, he stopped. "This is good enough for me," he grunted, "except th' range is too cussed long. Well, we'll try it from here, anyhow." "I'm goin' to th' next shack," replied Red, moving on. "We'll use our old follow-shootin'--an' make 'em sick. Ready? I'm goin' to cross th' open." At his friend's affirmative grunt Red leaned over and dashed for the other adobe. A bullet whined in front of him, barely heard above the roar of Johnny's rifle. He settled down, adjusted the sights and proceeded to prove title to his widely known reputation on other ranges of being the best rifle-shot of many square miles. "Make a hit, Kid?" he called. "It's mebby further than you figger." "It is," answered Johnny. "Like old times, huh? Lord help 'em when you get started! Are you all set? I'm ready to draw 'em." "Wind gentle, from th' east," mumbled Red. "Dirty gun--got to shoot higher. All right," he called, nestling the heavy stock. Johnny pushed his rifle around the corner of the building, aimed quickly and fired. A hatted head arose above Kane's roof and a puff of smoke spurted into the air above it as Red's Sharp's roared. The hat flew backward and the head ducked down again, its owner surprised by the luck of the shot.