Still swinging to the left in a wide circle, the outlaw ended by pointing directly toward the riders with the cattle, who were riding pell-mell to intercept him. Again he swung sharply to the left and, driving forward with the utmost speed, headed toward the gully where the cow-punchers lay hidden. Soon after he passed between the two converging groups of horsemen, they met and scattered up the gully behind him. "He bunched 'em like I would cows," Toothpick said admiringly. "Pick your man an' let's go." Thinking they had Allen in a trap, the rustlers pulled their ponies up and were dismounting, when the cowboys' devastating volley took them at point-blank range. The rustlers were all desperate men. In spite of the surprise, they stood their ground and attempted to fight back. But their enemies were concealed, and the rustlers were subjected to a deadly cross-fire, so, at last, what was left of them broke and fled. Jack Allen, mounted on his big black stallion, and Jim Allen, on Honeyboy, dashed, side by side, after the rustlers. Their horses leaped the mound of fallen men and ponies in the entrance. The rest of the cow-punchers streamed out from the cul-de-sac after the twins. "Goshamighty! see that black horse go!" Flat-foot cried. "Black, hell! Look at that gray! He runs with his belly touchin' the groun'!" Snoots screamed. Side by side, faster and faster, the twins overtook their quarry. Then they commenced to fire, first with their right and then with their left-hand gun. The rustlers started to drop and then scattered. Two jerked their horses to a standstill and held up their hands. The Allens swept by these and rode down the rest like greyhounds after rabbits. One man, and one man alone, reached the huts, and he slumped to his knees, as he dropped from his horse and tried to gain the house. "Reckon we bagged the lot," Jack Allen said soberly, and methodically reloaded his gun. "Yeh, an' that feller over by the hut that Jim plugged last is Boston Jack himself," Bill McAllister said. They gathered up the wounded and dead and laid them in rows in the shade of the huts. There were six dead, three mortally wounded and five others injured. Boston Jack had been shot through a lung, and his wound was fatal. He stared unblinkingly at his captors. "Yuh aimin' to nuss these here bimbos back to health or are yuh goin' to string 'em up pronto?" Toothpick asked jokingly. "Now--pronto!" Silent Moore said briefly. "Naw, let's keep 'em to show Spur," Slivers jested. The expression on Boston Jack's face changed. His fevered eyes caught Allen's. "What's that about Spur?" "Nothin'--but we're aimin' to keep yuh gents to show Spur afore we string yuh up--to sorta show Spur we----" Caught by something in Boston Jack's eyes, Allen hastily laid a hand on Slivers' arm. "Spur--he's comin'? He sent yuh gents here?" Boston Jack asked. "Sure did," Allen replied easily.