The face
which had been so cruelly, so grotesquely revealed was that of Frenchy
McAllister, and across his knees lay a heavy caliber Winchester. A
curse escaped from the lips of the outlaw; the man on the stump spat
at a firefly and smiled.
From the south came the crack of rifles, incessant and sharp. The
reports rolled from one end of the clearing to the other and seemed to
sweep in waves from the center of the line to the ends. Faintly in the
infrequent lulls in the firing came an occasional report from the rear
of the corral, where some desperate rustler paid for his venture.
Buck went along the line and spoke to the riflemen, and after some
time had passed and the light had become stronger, he collected the
men into groups of five and six. Taking one group and watching it
closely, it could be seen that there was a world of meaning in this
maneuver. One man started firing at a particular window in an opposite
hut and then laid aside his empty gun and waited. When the muzzle of
his enemy's gun came into sight and lowered until it had nearly gained
its sight level, the rifles of the remainder of the group crashed out
in a volley and usually one of the bullets, at least, found its
intended billet. This volley firing became universal among the
besiegers and the effect was marked.
Two men sprinted from the edge of the woods near Mr.
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