Maybe Pat Stevens was getting soft, but his gun-hand had lost none of its old cunning.

  He waited tensely, straining his ears for a sound to shoot at, but the gang had scattered and there was only the cautious rustling of leaves to indicate their hasty retreat.

  For a moment Pat was puzzled by the fact that he had not actually been able to make out any human figure in the night, though the starlight was strong enough to discern the outline of the animals.

  He remembered then the black robes and hoods of the two men who had taken him from the stagecoach, and realized that their fancy costumes rendered them almost invisible at night.

  Backing slowly to the rim of the ledge, he halted to listen intently. He heard the welcome sound of two horses coming slowly up the steep path from the stage road.

  That would be Ezra returning he guessed, but to make certain he cupped his hands and sent an eerie “Hoo-ooo-ooo” floating downward into the velvety darkness.

  For the second time that night his call was answered, and he plunged down the path to rejoin his comrades and make plans to repel the attack which he knew must be imminent.

  FIVE

  “Thought I heerd a little gun-fire up this-away,” Ezra said with casual cheerfulness when Pat panted up to meet him at the rear of the cabin. “You an’ Sam orto’ve waited for me ’fore you started swappin’ lead with them hyenas.” He dismounted leisurely while Pat caught the reins of Sam’s recently acquired sorrel.

  “Scattered ’em, for the time being,” Pat assured him as he led the sorrel into the narrow space between canyon wall and cabin. “Too dark for good shootin’, but I plugged one. The others’ll probably be sneakin’ down to surround the cabin,” he ended casually when his breath came easier.

  “’Pears t’me like a good time for us to make tracks out of here,” Ezra grumbled. “Where at’s Sam, an’ why ain’t he out here ready to ride?”

  “Fat chance you got of gettin’ away,” Pat answered. “If I hadn’t herded ’em back the other way they’d have plugged you on the way up. Bring that cayuse on back here and tie him up so he’ll be safe from stray bullets.”

  “He’s a she,” Ezra announced, characteristically refusing to show any deep concern over the situation. “I ain’t so anxious to hole up behin’ them logs an’ wait for ’em to Injun up on us. Me, I like plenty of room to dodge an’ spread my legs.” But he dutifully tied the mare as he spoke, and Pat sprinted around to the other side of the cabin and led the saddled black to the place of security, explaining:

  “By barricading ourselves in, we’ll have all the advantage. There’s three windows we can crack open to shoot through.”

  Ezra led the way to the cabin door without further argument. He opened it an inch, sniffed and muttered, “Danged if that don’t smell like bacon fryin’ an’ coffee boilin’. Mebby your idee of settlin’ down here ain’t so bad.”

  As he pushed the door open to enter, the crash of a pistol shot shattered the night silence from above and to their left. Ezra ducked as a bullet spanged into the door in front of him.

  Three more guns blazed at the lighted doorway before Pat could leap forward through the opening. Sam was reaching hastily for a lantern hanging over the stove, and Pat grabbed the other lighted lantern hanging on a rafter near the door.

  He swung it downward with a jerking motion that caused the flame to blink out, and his six-gun leaped into his left hand as if by magic. He whirled and fired through the open door while Ezra scuttled forward into the darkened cabin on his hands and knees, jerking the door shut behind him and barring it with a heavy timber that fitted into wooden niches on either side, then demanded: “How we gonna find our mouths so we kin eat in the dark?”

  Pat struck a match and inspected the windows, then lit one of the lanterns and turned the wick low after assuring himself that the heavy logs were well thatched and no light would shine through.

  “I’m thinkin’ we’ve got to hurry if we fill our bellies before they Injun down on us.”

  The three men gathered around the warm stove and laid strips of bacon between cold hard biscuits which the hooded men had left.

  With his mouth full, Ezra complained, “I’m still for gettin’ out o’ here soon as we eat.”

  “Nothin’ short of dynamite will get to us in here,” Pat answered comfortingly.

  “Shore. All safe an’ comfy like we was locked up in jail,” Ezra agreed sarcastically. “We orto of made a run for it whilst we was outside.”

  Sam snorted loudly and wiped sweat from his swarthy face. Pointing a finger at his one-eyed ranch partner, he asked: “How many of ’em is there you reckon?”

  Pat answered for Ezra. “Half a dozen, maybe. Less one I nicked up on the hill.” Pat reached for another biscuit, split it with his pocketknife and put two thick slabs of sowbelly between the halves.

  “You’re actin’ like it was a picnic,” Ezra complained, following Pat’s lead in the matter of a bacon sandwich. “Like you was plumb happy they got us holed up here.”

  Pat filled a tin cup with steaming coffee and moved away from the stove to squat on his heels against the wall. “It’ll be two or three hours yet till daylight,” he explained. “What chance would we have had of getting a look at the murderers if we chased off before they surround us?”

  There was a moment of silence when they listened intently for sounds from outside, then Sam and Ezra exchanged glances and shook their heads over Pat’s statement. “He’s done slipped a cog,” Sam said mournfully. “I’ve seed it comin’ uh long time but I been hopin’ maybe he’d get over it. An’ him with a wife an’ leetle boy to take keer of.”

  “Now what the damn hell does he wanta see what the varmints looks like?” Ezra supplied.

  Pat Stevens grinned up at them from his sitting position. “If you’re so hell-bent on not makin’ their acquaintance, what’re you two doin’ so far off your home range?”

  “God dammit,” Sam exploded, “we ain’t studyin’ none ’bout meetin’ up with ’em. Ezra an’ me was on our way up to Blue Mesa to take a look at them blue hawses old man Richards is got. ’Twan’t till we found out you was too old an’ decrepit to take keer o’ Sally that we took a hand.”

  “Thass right,” Ezra agreed solemnly. “An’ you said your ownself you wasn’ figgerin’ on none o’ that Wells Fargo reward.”

  “I wasn’t,” Pat agreed promptly. “I promised Sally I’d stay clear of trouble, and I just come up here for her sake to try an’ help old man Sutton get his gold out. But when trouble walks up and spits spang in my face it gets me riled. You two can slip out before it gets light, but I’m stayin’ till there’ll be a chance of trackin’ down the varmints.”

  “Looks like we’re in for it,” Sam said lugubriously to Ezra.

  “Yep,” Ezra agreed, his one eye gleaming. “The sooner you an’ me clean up the gang, the sooner we kin deliver Pat back to Sally safe an’ sound.”

  Each of the trio knew full well that the discussion was ended. Beneath the light and whimsical words lay a solemn pledge to wage unrelenting war on the hooded and robed killers of Dusty Canyon until the gang was exterminated. After nearly a year of inaction the three men were taking the trail together, and inside the four walls of the little cabin there was a warm sense of understanding and comradeship stronger than could be expressed by words.

  After another short period of listening and hearing no sound, Pat said, “Funny they don’t attack us. They must be waitin’ for the big boss to join ’em. Maybe one of ’em rode back to the hideout to tell the boss they had us cornered.”

  “Mebbe,” Ezra agreed disinterestedly. He had been sitting in one of the rockers before the fire. Lumbering to his feet he went to a door opposite the fireplace, saying, “I’m gonna see ain’t there some beddin’ in the shed.”

  The tiny room was a lean-to constructed of split logs laid vertically and unthatched, leaving wide cracks through which the cold night air blew. It was bare of furnishings except a rough chest against the inside wall. Ezra opened the heavy lid and saw that it was filled with quilts and sheepskin coverings.

  Reaching one big hand inside to gather an armful to take into the other room, he was interrupted by a rain of rifle bullets on the thick pine slabs of the shedroom. One bullet found its way through a crack and spanged into the thatched wall on his right.

  Dropping to his hands and knees, Ezra crawled rapidly to the door, reaching it just as Pat was ready to slam it shut.

  “What the hell did you do?” Pat asked in a low, furious voice.

  “How’d I know that lean-to was full o’ cracks,” Ezra said, coming to his feet with the agility of a wild cat and loosening his gun in its holster.

  All three men stood alert and listening, ready for action. Pat said softly, “I reckon they’re back with the boss and ready to fight.” He consulted his watch and added, “That means the hideout can’t be too far from here. When we scatter ’em in the mornin’, some are sure to ride that way. We’ll trail ’em, and maybe finish this job up quick.” He grinned wolfishly.

  “After we scatter ’em in the mawnin’,” Ezra interjected dolefully. “You figger they’ll throw down their guns and run when you show yore ugly face out the door?”

  “Let’s worry about that when the time comes.” Pat Stevens yawned with boredom for the utter silence outside the cabin. “Day ought to be breakin’ in another hour.”

  “That’s right,” said Ezra with a strange air of contentment. “We’re damn nigh as safe here as we was in the bank at Dutch Springs. They couldn’t get at us through the walls that day, neither.”

  “U-m-m,” muttered Sam innocently. “That’s the day I come ridin’ in jest in time to keep you-all from burnin’ alive ’fore your time. As I recolleck, Red John’s men went to work on the roof when they found out they couldn’ get through the walls.”

  “I was put in mind o’ that day when I heerd a funny fuss on the roof jest now,” Ezra said calmly while his one eye burned hotly and appeared to dance with glee.

  “You heard a noise on the roof?” Pat asked grimly. “I didn’t hear anything.” His face was strained as he stared up at the rough log rafters pressed against the flat mud-plastered roof.

  “You and Sam,” Ezra muttered ironically, “cain’t keep yore mouths shet long enough to hear nothin.” With his fiery red hair almost touching the rafters he stared upward. “They’ll have to do some scrapin’ to git that layer o’ sod off.”

  Pat swore softly as his straining ears caught the faint sound of cautious movement overhead. His hands dropped to his holstered guns and he drew them slowly, still gazing upward.

  They spread out in a small triangle directly beneath the sound. “We’ll all blast away at one time … soon as the first mud crumbles.…”

  He was interrupted by a spattering of hard mud on the little cook-stove.

  “The stove pipe … they’re pulling a piece of it out!” Ezra bellowed like an enraged bull, and at the same instant a mass of flaming rags and twigs dropped through, scattering in every direction to the dry board floor. Saturated with kerosene, the fiery debris quickly ignited the boards.

  Leaping forward, Sam and Ezra stamped furiously as another, and then another flaming mass came down, filling the interior of the cabin with acrid smoke.

  Pat Stevens backed away slowly toward the door. His eyes were bleak and cold and both hands caressed the worn butts of his guns.

  The hooded men were shouting angrily and cursing, booted heels no longer moved cautiously on the roof, but raced and pounded as they hurried to supply the men at the stovepipe hole with more rags to fire and drop into the room.

  Pat reached the door unnoticed by Sam and Ezra, who were working desperately to keep the flames from firing the floor. He slid the heavy bar back silently, tensing himself for a sudden desperate dash outside, his muscles taut to withstand the crashing impact of the bullet he expected the moment he jerked the door open.

  He knew the gang would be waiting for just this move. They would be fools not to have the front door covered.

  But it was his only chance. They would all suffocate and the cabin would soon be a blazing inferno unless something was done.

  He crouched tensely by the side of the door, lips drawn back from his teeth in a snarl, both guns free of their holsters. With the muzzle of one he edged the door open cautiously. A hail of hot lead crashed through the opening, spatting harmlessly into the wall beyond.

  Sam and Ezra whirled about with a shout of alarm just in time to see Pat dive low through the door into the starlit night. Another flaming mass of twigs and cloth came through the opening and they were forced to turn their attention to it for the moment.

  Pat hit the ground on his side and let his body roll over and over. He glimpsed the dim hulk of a crouching body beyond in the underbrush and fired from the hip as he rolled.

  He heard a low grunt of surprise and the body pitched forward.

  Pat staggered to his knees as a man came running around the corner of the cabin, shouting hoarsely from behind a black mask, “What’s happening, Jake? What’s all the shooting? …”

  Leveling both guns, Pat triggered them. The hooded man’s question died away in a horrible gurgle. He slewed sideways and staggered, then crumpled limply to the ground.

  Leaping over the supine body, Pat jumped for the corner of the cabin, jerked his body back as bullets whined off the logs in front of him. Two men were firing, backing away as they emptied their guns, seeking the shelter of a clump of jackpines.

  A sharp order cut through the din and uproar.

  “Set the damned hut on fire outside!”

  One last load of hot lead struck the corner of the cabin and a splinter gashed Pat’s cheek as he drew back with a curse.

  “Saturate that lean-to and burn the devils out,” the same commanding voice rang out.

  Crouching against the corner directly opposite from the lean-to, Pat’s grim mouth broke into an exultant grin. He was near enough to the door to stop Sam and Ezra as they ran from the cabin, and here they would be in comparative darkness while the hooded gang back-lighted themselves with their own fire. He could hear the trampling of feet on the roof, heard the men drop with a thud to the ground.

  Sam and Ezra burst out of the cabin door just as a bright flame leaped up on the other side. Pat muttered, “Don’t move. Stay where you are till they start for their horses.”

  The flames licked greedily at the shedroom, lighting the canyon wall and shedding a dangerous glow over the three partners.

  “They’re making a run for their hawses,” Ezra whispered, but Pat was already on his way with Sam close behind him.

  Pat called back, “Unhitch the horses and lead ’em to a safe place, Ezra, while Sam and me go after ’em.”

  Hugging the cabin wall as they ran, Pat and Sam emptied their guns toward the clump of pines behind which the gang’s horses were bunched, but it was impossible to take aim at a specific object without moving away from the wall and themselves becoming targets.

  The hooded riders were galloping away on the shelf road, riding, as Pat expected they would, toward Tola.

  The crackling flames licking at the pine boards of the lean-to made it impossible to hear the shod hooves at any distance. The dark green spruce and jackpine and the black night swallowed them up as they raced to their hideout.

  Yelling for Ezra, Pat and Sam rushed toward the stream flowing from a rock in the wall and found a wooden tub overflowing with water. Together they lifted it and carried it toward the flaming lean-to. Dashing the water on the flame, they raced back to refill it. They met Ezra going toward the fire with a tin pail in one hand and the big coffee pot in the other.

  For an hour they worked valiantly until the shed-room was a smoldering mass of charred wood, but as dawn broke over the canyon they saw that the cabin stood intact except for a few charred boards in the big room.

  With the urgency of putting out the fire, Pat had not had time to do much thinking. When they were inside the cabin with a fresh log fire burning, Ezra broached the subject which had been puzzling Pat by saying:

  “Whut I cain’t figger out is why didn’ they wait an’ pick us off a’ter they started the big fire.”

  “Yeh,” Pat agreed absently. “I think the one that give the order to fire the cabin outside was the leader. He prob’ly turned tail and rode hell-bent for the hideout soon’s he give the order. I’d plugged two of ’em off at one time, and I’m pretty certain I got another one. The ones that was left was cowards and run away when the boss left.”

  “H-m-m,” Sam muttered. “Reckon that’s the way it wuz.” He got up from his chair and went to the stove where he stood examining the flue. The top section of pipe was missing, and without a word he went outside to climb up and fix it.

  Pat stood up and stretched his arms, yawned expansively, and said, “I’m goin’ out and have a look at the fellers I picked off last night.”

  Silently Ezra followed him. A short distance from the cabin two robed and hooded figures lay stiff and cold in a clump of spruce. Cursing in a low voice, Pat lifted the mask from the face of the short, stocky corpse and saw a bristle of black whiskers surrounding a thick, twisted mouth.

  “This is one of the two that dragged me out of the stage coach,” he said. Pulling the mask down, he stepped over the body to examine the other figure which lay crumpled just as Pat had seen it fall. Though he judged the second corpse to be much longer than the other, after lifting the mask he had no way of knowing whether this was his tall captor who had, undoubtedly, untied the rope before leaving the cabin to ride away.

  Pat stood looking up toward the ledge back of the cabin, trying to recall the exact spot where he had his first encounter the night before. Suddenly he started forward at a rapid pace with Ezra’s long legs striding out behind him. Climbing up the slope, Pat carefully examined the rocks over a small area, but there was no third body here. Circling a trampled space through the scant underbrush, he bent down to examine a spot where it was evident a man had fallen.

  He found a pool of dry frozen blood and knew that his shot had seriously wounded one of the gang. Rising from his knees, he said, “Maybe this’ll help us to find at least one of the gang. He lost a lot of blood.”