A long-range fusillade was kept up all day on Monday without effect on either side, and Monday night also passed uneventfully. Tuesday found the Rustlers entrenched in rifle-pits and stone forts within easy range on all sides of the ranch buildings. They had received large quantities of ammunition from Buffalo, which was only fifteen miles north of them, and had also brought up the tents and provisions abandoned by the White Caps near the Powder River. All day long the numbers of the Rustlers kept constantly increasing, till by nightfall fully five hundred men were pouring lead into the buildings and forts on the A--T. The firing kept up all Tuesday night, and under cover of the darkness the Rustlers advanced their rifle-pits to within two hundred yards of the ranch buildings. Seated on the top of a pile of earth and thinking himself safe in the darkness, young Tommy Arnold, of the Rustlers, fired a shot at the dark mass of buildings in the valley. Quick as lightning came an answering shot, fired at the flash of his gun, and young Arnold pitched forward, shot through the breast. Angered at the death of Arnold, several Rustlers digging a pit near him seized their rifles and poured in a volley of bullets at the spot where they had seen the gun-flash in the valley. With five further shots, however, the hidden marksman wounded two of them and threw dirt into the faces of a couple more, so that they were soon glad to quit the unequal duel. The man who did this shooting was afterwards discovered to be an ex-United States marshal from Oklahoma, named Smith. He was wounded on the last day of the fight, and afterwards died from his wounds. On Tuesday afternoon Bob Snelling and John Pettybone, two of the richest ranchers among the Rustlers, rode over to Fort McKinney and offered the commander there two thousand dollars for the use of his cannon for one day. Of course, the commandant had to refuse, and he further took warning, so that that night, when a party of Rustlers, led by Tom Ray, arrived with the intention of stealing the gun they found it had been wheeled into the guard-house and a sentry stationed over it. Not to be daunted by these failures to secure a big gun, old Jack Flagett, a veteran of the Civil War, essayed to make one. He secured a team and drove to Buffalo, returning with a number of lengths of iron piping. He first placed a three-inch pipe around a two-inch and pounded the intervening space full of wet sand, repeating the performance with a four and six inch pipe. The whole affair was then chained securely to the stump of a tree on the top of a hill about five hundred yards from the A--T buildings. Next the amateur artillerist rammed in a couple of pounds of powder, and, for a projectile, put in five pounds of dynamite. Then he called out to some near-by Rustlers: “Come over, boys, and watch me blow that White Cap outfit to Hades!” He was about to set a match to the touch-hole when one Fred Johnston interfered.