She turned to the door but Waddles had barred it behind her. "Take the little house, Pet," he urged. "Like Cal said. You'll be safe enough. We'll give 'em hell." She walked to the little cabin that stood isolated and alone, the first building ever erected on the Three Bar and which had sheltered the Harrises before her father had taken over the brand. The smoke had spread all along the row of buildings and hung in an oily black cloud above them, the hungry flames licking up the sides of the dry logs. The men had withdrawn after putting the torch to the row in a dozen spots. From her point of vantage she saw two masked men rise from the brush and run swiftly down toward the main house, each carrying a can. She divined their purpose instantly. "Watch the west side!" she called. "The west side--quick." The sound of Waddles's hand-axe ceased and an instant later the roar of the shotgun sounded twice from within the house, followed by the cook's lament. "Missed!" the big voice wailed. "Two minutes more and I'd have made a real hole." The muffled crash of a rifle rolled steadily from the house as Waddles fired at the chinking in an effort to reach the two men outside. But they had accomplished their purpose and retreated, the house shielding them from Harris's field of view; and they kept on the same line, out of sight of the bunk house, till they reached a deep coulee which afforded a safe route of retreat. The row of buildings was a seething mass of flames rolling up into the black smoke. Flames hissed and licked up the blank wall of the main House, traveling along the logs on which the two masked raiders had thrown their cans of oil. The men outside had only to wait until the occupants were roasted out. A stiff wind held from the west and once the house was in flames they would be driven down upon the bunk house and fire it in turn. She knew Waddles would come out when it grew too hot. The raiders might let him go. It was Harris they waited for. The girl ran across and pounded on the bunkhouse door. "Run for it," she begged. "Make a run for the brush! I'll keep between you and them. They won't shoot me. You can get to the brush. There's a chance that way." "All right, old girl," Harris said. "In a minute now. But you go back, Billie. Get back to the little house. As soon as it gets hot I'll run for it. I've got ten minutes yet before I'm roasted out. I'll start as soon as you're inside the house." "No. Start now!" she implored. The flames were sliding along one side of the house and even now she could feel the heat of them fanned down upon the bunk house by the wind. "Run, Cal," she entreated. "Run while you've got a chance." She leaned upon the door and beat on it with her fists. "All right, Billie," he said. "I'll go. You stay right where you are as if you're talking to me."