“The big steal!” he exclaimed. “I know the answer now, June. Reber’s own men are stealing from him--taking a big herd over the West Fork pass. That’s why they stole yuh, don’t yuh see? They didn’t want anybody here to see ’em. That’s why there wasn’t anybody here, June. “That’s why they’ve blocked the road against Reber. McLeese had this framed before Reber fired him. God knows how many of Reber’s men are in on it. They’re tryin’ to send ’em over the pass before anybody can get out here to catch ’em.” “But--but they know we’re here,” panted June. “They sure do,” said Jack bitterly. “Keep out of line with the windows. I’ve got the doors fastened and I’ve got two guns. But our best chance is to lay low. We know too much for them to let us get out alive, June. Their plans were upset when Reber sent you out here.” “But won’t they be in such a hurry to get the cattle over the pass that they’ll leave us alone?” June’s answer came in the form of a bullet, which smashed out a pane of glass and thudded into the rear wall of the room. Jack drew June back against the wall, and they edged their way to the front of the room. “Flat on the floor under the windows,” said Jack. “They’ll not shoot that low.” A shower of glass sprayed over them when a bullet tore through the window casing. “Shootin’ wild,” said Jack easily. “Listen to the cattle.” They could hear the dull rumble of the moving herd, the soft bawling of calves. “They’re movin’ a mighty big herd,” said Jack. “It sure will hit Park Reber hard.” “You ought to be glad,” said June wearily. “I wonder if I am? If it was anybody but his own men I might.” “You believe in loyalty, Jack?” “If yuh mean trustin’ a friend or an employee--yes.” “You’ve been to school?” Jack nodded shortly. “Six years, June--in Cheyenne.” “Who sent you there?” “I don’t know. I don’t even know who paid for it. I was sent from the reservation when I was about eight years old. I never went back there, June. I was fourteen when I came here. I worked for Buck Priest quite a while, and then I built me a place on Trapper Creek. I was goin’ to be a cowman, and I had a good start, but Park Reber’s men killed off my cattle. I’ve been in the valley eleven years.” “You are twenty-five years old, Jack?” “I think so.” “Who was your father?” He looked queerly at her. Another bullet smashed through the kitchen window and ricocheted off the stove. “I don’t know who he was,” said Jack. He ran his fingers along the barrel of his six-shooter. “No one would tell me after I came back from school. They said I was the son of a squaw-man.” Jack sat up with his shoulders against the corner of the room. Some one had come on the porch and was near the door. Jack leaned sidewise and sent a bullet angling through the center panel. His shot was echoed by a yelp and a curse. “They’re still in there!” yelled a voice.