Bullets came through the door about two feet above the floor and more came through the smashed windows. The opposite wall of the room was beginning to show signs of wear. A bullet smashed the lamp, causing a small shower of kerosene. Some one was trying to open the kitchen door. Jack snaked along the wall to the kitchen entrance and sent a bullet through the door just above the knob. He heard a sharp cry and turned to see June, one hand across her face. She had tried to follow him. He rolled back to her and drew her back under the window. A bullet had come through just below the sill, and had scored her temple just enough to break the skin and raise a blue welt. She was dazed, bewildered. She tried to get to her feet, but Jack pulled her down. “You’re all right, June,” he told her. “It’s not serious. Stay down, girl!” He held to her with one hand. There was smoke drifting in through the broken window--too much smoke to be caused by the shooting. Jack sniffed at it. Wood smoke! They had fired the ranchhouse! He could hear the flames crackling now, and the smoke was getting heavier. June was recovering, but it seemed that the injury had broken her nerve. She began crying softly and Jack patted her on the arm. “It’s all right, June,” he told her. “Don’t cry. You’ve got to hang on to yore nerve, girl. They’ve set the house on fire. It’s do or die, I guess. We can’t stay here and burn to death.” The wall was getting hot. There was a little breeze, and the seasoned old building was as dry as tinder. June blinked at him through her tears. She understood what he was saying. “We’ll crawl to the kitchen door,” he told her. “I’ll open the door and jump out. Mebbe I can drive ’em back so you can get away. It’s our only chance. They might let yuh go and figure on catchin’ yuh. I’ll stop ’em as long as I can, June.” They slid along the wall to the kitchen. The shooting had stopped. Jack knew they were merely waiting for them to try to make a break. Beside the door they stopped and Jack held out his hand to her. “Good-by, June. You stay here until I tell yuh when to come out--if I last that long.” “Good-by, Jack.” June’s face was white and drawn. “I forced you into this. If it hadn’t been for me you’d be free.” “Tha’s all right; it was a mistake, June. It’s all in the game. I reckon I’d forgive you for anythin’. Good-by.” He raised up from his haunches, grasped the door with his left hand and gave it a jerk. It stuck fast. He dropped the gun in his holster and grasped the door with both hands but it refused to open. “Stay here, June,” he panted, dropping to his knees and crawled back to the front door. The room was full of smoke now. He went to the door, got to his feet and tried to open it. He could force it open about two inches--enough to see that a rope ran from the knob to a porch-post.