The head popped back into the darkness above it, the trapdoor fell with a bang, and sudden stamping was followed by the fall of a heavy body. Furious, high-pitched cursing roared in the room above until lost in a bedlam of stamping feet and shouting voices. "He ought to kill them three fools," growled Hopalong, indignant for the moment; and then he shook with silent laughter. Wiping his eyes, he fell to gathering more wood for his fire, careless as to noise in view of the free-for-all going on over his head. Removing the plug from the canteen he poured part of the oil over the piled-up wood, on posts, along beams and then, saturating his neckerchief, he rubbed it over the floor boards. Wriggling around the pile of sand he wet the outer wall as far up as his arm would reach, soaked two more posts and another pile of shavings and chips and then, corking the nearly empty vessel, he felt for a match with his left hand, which was comparatively free from the kerosene, struck it on his heel and touched it here and there, and a rattling volley from the besiegers answered the flaming signal. Backing under the floor he touched the other pile and wriggled to the wall directly under the loophole. Again and again the canteen soaked the kerchief and the kerchief spread the oil, again a pile of shavings leaned against a wetted post, and another match leaped from a mere spot of fire into a climbing sheet of flame, which swept up over the loophole and made it useless. As he turned to watch the now well-lighted trapdoor, there came from the east, barely audible above the sudden roaring of the flame, the reports of the rifles of his two friends, the irregular timing of the shots leading him to think that they were shooting at animated targets, perhaps on the roof. The trapdoor went up swiftly and he fired at the head of a man who looked through it. The toppling body was grabbed and pulled back and the door fell with a slam which shook the building. Hopalong's position was now too hot for comfort and getting more dangerous every second and with a final glance at the closed trapdoor he scrambled from under the building, slapped sparks from his neck and shoulders and sprinted toward his waiting, anxious friends, where a rifle automatically began the timed firing again, although there now was no need for it. Slowing as he left the building further and further behind he soon dropped into a walk and the rifle grew silent. "Here we are," called Johnny's cheery voice. "I'm admittin' you did a good job!" "An' _I_'m sayin' you did a good one," replied Hopalong. "Them shots came as reg'lar as th' tickin' of a clock." "Quite some slower," said Red. "That gang can't stay in there much longer. Notice how Mac's firin' has died down?" "They're waitin' for 'em to come out an' surrender," chuckled Hopalong. "Keep a sharp watch an' you'll see 'em come out an' make a run for it." "Better get back to th' cayuses, an' be ready to foller," suggested Red.