"You'll get it, all right," cheered Harrison, anger in his voice withal. "It'll be a snub-nosed .45, if you don't shut up yore trap. You ain't openin' no Fourth of July celebration, or runnin' for Congress." Ben felt for his gun and cursed peevishly. "My guns are gone: lend me one of yourn!" he said. "Th' gentleman has quite a collection," chuckled Harrison. "Three Colts an' a Winchester. Good pickin', says he. Good enough, says I. True, says he; but, he says, I have hopes of more. Ta-ta! jeers I." "Shut _yore_ face!" growled Fleming, writhing. "I want a gun, an' I wants it now!" blazed Gates, pugnaciously. "Fair sir, how many guns do you think we pack?" demanded Harrison. "You got a rifle an' a Colt!" snapped Gates. "I wants one of 'em!" "He only wants one of 'em," said Fleming. "I was scared you'd be a hog," said Harrison. "Here; take this Winchester, an' _keep_ it. Bein' generous is all right; but it has its limits." Gates gripped the weapon affectionately and sat up. "No use of stayin' here like we done took root," he said, rising to his feet. "We wants to spread out. Mebby he's still hangin' around." "Yes; an' shoot each other," growled Harrison. "I'm goin' to spread out, all right; an' when I quits spreadin' I'll be in my little bunk. He's a mile away by now; but if he ain't, don't you let him have that gun; he's got enough now." He stopped suddenly, and their hair arose on their heads as a long-drawn, piercing scream rang out. It sounded like a woman in mortal agony and it came from the ridge above them. From the upper end of the rock-walled pasture below came a howl, deep, long-drawn, evil, threatening. They turned searching eyes toward the nearer sound and saw a crescent bulk silhouetted against the moon. It lay in the top of a blasted pine, and as they looked, it raised its chunky head and neck and screamed an answering challenge to the lobo wolf in the canyon. Ben moved swiftly, and a spurt of flame split the night, crashing echoes returning in waves. The crescent silhouette in the tree-top leaped convulsively and crashed to the ground, breaking off the dead limbs in its fall, and then there ensued a spitting, snarling, thrashing turmoil as the great panther scored the earth in its agony. Ben's friends forsook him as though he were a leper and melted into the shadows, cursing him from A to Z. They wanted no ringing notice of their presence broadcasted, and the flash and roar of the heavy rifle had done just that. As they faded into the darker shadows farther back a crashing sounded in the brush and they peered forth to see the great panther plunging and writhing through the bushes, smashing its way through the oak brush in desperate plunges. Reaching the edge of a small clearing it gave one convulsive leap, another harrowing scream and thudded against a bowlder, where it suddenly relaxed and lay quiet.