"That devil Kuryla and the coyotes that came with him knew the best an' quickest way to start the ball rollin'. Well, son, I reckon we're in for it. The only thing I'm sorry about is that you're here; but that can't be helped now. You were white clean through to come—Holy Mother, listen to that!"—another yell broke louder, fiercer than before over the roar of the storm.
Spirlaw stepped to the door and peered out. It was already getting dark. The rain still poured in sheets, and the wind howled down the gorge in wild, furious, spasmodic gusts. Thin streaks of light strayed out from the doors of the bunk-houses, and around the doors were gathered shadowy groups. A moment more and the shadowy groups welded into a single dark mass. Came a mad, exultant yell from a single throat. It was caught up, flung back, echoed and re-echoed by a score of voices—and the dark mass began to move.
"Guess you'd better put out that light, son," said Spirlaw coolly. "There's no use makin' targets of our"
Before he ended, before Keating had more than taken a step forward, a lump of rock shivered the little window and crashed into the lamp—it was out for keeps. A howl followed this exhibition of marksmanship, and, following that, a volley of stones smashed against the side of the shack thick and fast as hail—then the onrush of feet.
Spirlaw's revolver cut the black with a long, blinding flash, then another, and another. Screams and
