As the Mexican rifles whipped and sang in the crags sheep after sheep staggered and fell. Hano’s eyes blazed with indignation. At least six of these white-clad Mexicanos were up there and three of the sheep were killed, a noble ram and two ewes, but still the slaughter went on unceasingly. That band of big horns and a few others like it around Pinacate were almost the sole meat supply of Hano’s tribe. A few each year had been plenty to keep them all in meat. _One_ ram would have been more than enough to feed all this band of white men all they could carry away, yet nothing less than the slaughter of them all--brutal, thoughtless, insensate killing for the mere pleasure of shooting seemed their purpose. Higher and higher the Mexican hunters climbed, following the doomed sheep up to the ridges. Once over them and---- With a great bitter cry of rage at the sickening insatiate greed of it, Hano rose to his feet, snatched Niltci’s rifle from his hands and emptied it in rapid shots. He sent bullets whistling among the hunters up in the crags, then shot down horses among that group closely packed in the Pass below them. Dashing down the empty weapon with a curse of rage, he bounded down through the mesquite and was lost to sight. Niltci, himself overwhelmed with indignant sympathy over this useless slaughter of wild life, had not interfered with Hano and he now picked up the rifle and reloaded it. “Good hunch, Injun! Shootin’ them hosses is our best bet arter all!” muttered Big John to himself raising the meat gun to his shoulder. He aimed full at the serapé-clad rider who sat his horse, yelling up at the hunters above and signaling urgently to them to return. “Greaser, I could kill you now, an’ end all this to onct,” he muttered, “but ontil you shoots at me fust, I cayn’t do it.” He lowered the sights a trifle and pulled trigger. Instantly the horse which the Mexican rode collapsed and fell kicking on the sands. Vasquez jumped free. “_Gringoes! Enemigos! Tira! Tira!_” he yelled, shaking his fists and pointing wildly. Big John went on shooting, picking off horse after horse. Niltci’s rifle was thundering in his ears, for the indignant Navaho had turned _his_ fire on the sheep slaughterers now scrambling madly down the hill. A wild commotion had broken out in the confused knot of horses and men that were left of the cavalcade. Presently a band of five of them mounted and rode swiftly toward their position. Then down below a single war whoop rang out and Big John saw a lone Indian rider dash out into the Pass. It was Hano, making his sacrifice of leading as many as possible of the enemy after him away into the desert. A fusillade of shots greeted him; then the rapid clatter of hoofs as the whole band swept by, Hano far in the lead on Sid’s pony. Big John dropped the foremost horse as they passed below him; the rest swept by quirting their mounts furiously as Hano disappeared over a swale in the sand dunes.