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“stretch,” then the contented groaning and gurgling as they
     settled back to rest once more.
    Another hour passed, with nothing happening, and then with the suddenness of a thunderclap the silence burst into horrific
     sound. Yells split theair, swung slickers snapped and crackled. There was a crashing of gunshots. Brant heard bullets thud into the blanket rolls
     laid in rows by the dying fire on the lower bench.
    The cattle came to their feet with terrified bawls. Brant leaped forward a pace and both his guns streamed fire as he fired at
     the flashes on the prairie below. The exultant whoops of the raiders changed to yelps of alarm. The Running W hands came tumbling
     from their blankets, sized up the situation instantly and the boom of their guns added to the pandemonium. For moments the
     night was a blazing, roaring, bellowing hell. Then, with a low thunder of hoofs, the herd stampeded madly to the south. After
     them crashed the yelling raiders, lead whining through the darkness in their wake.
    “After those cows! Round ’em up and start ’em millin’!” Brant shouted to the cursing cowboys. He turned to his own selected
     hands who were grouped close around him. “All right, fork your cayuses,” he told them. “We’ll give those wide-loopin’ gents
     a mite of a surprise.”
    Around the cliff wall they bulged and up the long slope, speeding in the wake of Smoke who raced a length in the lead. They
     reached the crest of the rise, topped it and skalleyhooted down the far sag. For a mile Brant headed due north, then he veered
     to the west, his men swerving after him. Straight ahead the ominous loom of the hills showed dimly in the faint sheen of starlight
     that filtered through the cloud rack. As they drew nearer, a blacker segment made itself evident. It was the mouth of the canyon
     Brant had observedthe evening before. He led his men into its gloom and halted.
    “All right,” he directed, “lead the horses over to one side and leave them in the brush. Those hellions should show any minute
     now. They’ll have to circle back from the south with the bunch they cut out, but they won’t be far behind us, or I’m making
     a big mistake. Get set. Let the cows go into the gulch. The sidewinders will be back to the rear, shoving them along. When
     they’re close enough to line sights on, let ’em have it.”
    Tensely the cowboys waited, guns out and ready. For some minutes nothing happened. Then a low mutter shattered the silence.
     It grew to a rumble of many hoofs punctuated by the bleating of frightened steers. A dark mass came rolling across the prairie.
     Shouts sounded, and the sharper click of horses’ irons. Jostling and clashing, the rustled cows poured into the blackness
     of the gorge. Behind loomed some six or seven horsemen.
    “Let ’em have it!” roared Brant.
    Instantly the cowboys’ guns spouted fire. The canyon walls rocked to the thunder of the explosions. A terrified yell sounded.
     It was followed by the thud of a falling body, and another. There was a scream of pain, a gurgling cough, a wild clashing
     of bridle irons, then the frantic beat of hoofs fading into the distance. The Running W hands sent lead whining after the
     fleeing raiders until the uproar died away.
    Brant lowered his smoking Colt. “We got a couple of ’em,” he exulted. “I heard ’em hit the ground. Let’s have a look-see.
     Careful, now, they’re fangin’sidewinders and deadly as a back-busted rattler. Don’t take a chance of leaning against a passing slug. Take it easy.”
    Cautiously, guns ready, the cowboys crept out of the shadows. On the ground at the mouth of the canyon lay what looked like
     two bundles of old clothes. Neither moved as the punchers approached. Brant took a chance and scratched a match. The tiny
     flare of light showed the two owl-hoots satisfactorily dead.
    “This one is shot to pieces,” he said, bending over the dead man. “The other’s drilled plumb