Through the chinks we could see the Indians working industriously with a battering-ram, improvised from the trunk of a tree. At any moment the gates might fall, and we knew there would be little hope for us once the red-skins gained an entrance. Jim now sent his wife inside the house for better protection. The little babe had, up to this time, been peacefully sleeping on the bed, which must now be used to barricade the door of the house. Consequently, the little fellow was disturbed as his mother moved the huge affair against the opening, and he, too, added to the din of the engagement. “Now, gentlemen,” said Jim, “we’ve got to make a last stand. The gates will be down in a minute; they have been greatly weakened by the fire. Every one of you to the roof!” Up to the roof we climbed as a last resort. I think we all realized the gravity of the situation. We stretched ourselves flat, weapons in hand, and waited. It seemed ages. We could hear the cries of the infant mingled with the sobs of the distracted mother. Bates, who had an abominable voice, tried to sing a hymn. Smith told him to be quiet--the situation was trying enough without his music. Presently there came a crash--the gates were down. In rushed the red-skins, a fearless crowd. There were just thirteen; I counted them. “Now, gentlemen, let ’em have it,” called Jim, in a low tone. Well, we did let them have it; there was no mistake about that. There was a blaze from the rifles, Jim’s shot-gun, and the revolvers, and we all pumped lead as fast as we could. When the smoke cleared a little we looked below. There were eight red-skins as dead as ever they could be. Three more were crawling away on all fours, seriously wounded. This left two on my record unaccounted for. We soon spied them making off over the little hills towards Brick Dust Canyon as fast as their legs could carry them. One of them was “Apache Kid,” the leader. He got off with a whole skin, but I’ll wager that he had some marks about his face. When we got down from the roof we could no longer hear Mrs. Smith or the babe, and feared they had been killed by stray bullets. Repeated calls failed to bring response. When we forced an entrance we found her in a dead faint, lying on the bed beside the infant, who was chewing his fist and chuckling as if in great glee. Woman-like, Mrs. Smith deferred her swoon till all danger was past. To the delight of McGill, his miserable briar was recovered that day by Jim, who said he did not want the well spoiled, otherwise he would have left it there. “Shot-gun Jim”--for that is how he is always known now, on account of his fearful execution with his shot-gun, for it was he who really saved the day--has never been troubled by Apaches since. He still insists on living in that forsaken spot, forgetful of the terrible scenes of carnage and danger he has passed through, working at a copper mine which he discovered up beyond Brick Dust Canyon. [Illustration: A Perilous Mission.]