"I'm done--all right," he grunted. "Listen, Tip. And you, Kid Wolf.

I know yo're a true-blue friend. I want yuh to recover those cattle, if yuh ever get out of here alive. Yuh promise to try?" He turned glazing eyes at the Texan. "The cattle should go--to Tip's mother.

She's in Dodge City."

"Believe me, sah," promised Kid Wolf earnestly, "if we evah get out of this trap alive, Tip and I will do ouah best."

The stricken man's face lighted. He grasped his son, Tip, with one hand, the Texan with the other.

"I'll pa.s.s on easier now."

Suddenly he drew himself up to his full height of well over six feet, squared his enormous shoulders, and with crimson welling from his wound, walked firmly and steadily to the door and began kicking the barricade aside.

"What are yuh doin'?" one of the defenders cried, thinking he was delirious from his hurt.

McCay, fighting against the weakness that threatened to overcome him, turned with a smile, grim and terrible.

"I'm goin' out there," he said, "to take some of those devils--with me!"

In vain Kid Wolf and Tip attempted to restrain him. The old man waved them back.

"I'm done for, anyway," he said. "I haven't got ten minutes to live.

What if they do fill me with lead? I'll get one or two while they're doin' it!"

He seemed stronger now than ever. Sheer will power was keeping him on his feet. Seizing two revolvers, one in each big fist, he wabbled through the door.

With horror-widened eyes, they watched his reeling progress. He faltered to the hitch rack with bullets humming all around him. He clung to it for a moment, then went on, stalking toward the Idle Hour like grim vengeance! His guns sputtered red fire and bursts of black powder smoke. Hit time after time--they could see the dust fly from his clothing as he staggered along under the dreadful impacts--he kept going. It was glorious, terrible!

Tip hid his eyes, with a despairing cry. Kid Wolf watched, his face white under his sunburn.

Up to the very door of the Hardy refuge, the old man walked, his guns hammering claps of thunder. Hit several times in the body, he sprawled once and fell, but was on his feet again before the smoke drifted away.

He plunged through the door, and The Kid saw two men drop under his blazing guns. Then McCay, too, fell--for the last time.

"Yo' dad was one game hombre, Tip," murmured the Texan, putting a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder. "Let's hope that when ouah turn comes, we can go as bravely."

He had never seen such an exhibition of undaunted courage. Although the tragedy had clutched at his heart, the spectacle had thrilled him, too. He knew that if he should escape, he would do his best to make good his promise to Old Beef McCay!

The McCay store was surrounded on all sides, and its four walls were scarred and pitted with bullet holes. And night was coming on rapidly.

Kid Wolf saw the peril of their position. He knew, only too well, that the darkness would add to their troubles.

Twilight was deepening into dusk. Soon it became dark, and the moon would not be up for an hour. Kid Wolf, Tip McCay, and their four companions were never more alert. But even their keen eyes could not watch everything.

Young McCay was very pale. His father's death had touched him deeply, and fury against his killers burned in his glance. The others, too, were grim, thinking not of their own peril, but of the murderous Hardy gang. Thirsty for vengeance, they kept their eyes glued to their peepholes, fingers on gun triggers.

Tip had found a friend in Kid Wolf. No words were wasted on sympathy now, or regrets, but Tip knew that the drawling Texan understood.

There was little shooting being done now, and the suspense was telling on the nerves of all of them. What was Hardy up to? Would he again attempt to batter down the door and force a way in, under cover of darkness this time? But they were not left long in doubt.

"I smell smoke!" cried Blake.

Immediately afterward a sharp, crackling sound came to their ears.

Hardy's gang had set fire to the store! Under cover of darkness, one of the slinking Indians had crept up and ignited a pile of oil-soaked rags against the logs of the building. The flames rose high, licking hungrily upward.

"Get water!" some one shouted.

A bucketful or two from their supply tossed accurately through a loophole by Kid Wolf extinguished the blaze before it could rise higher. It was a close call, and it showed them what to expect now.

The Indian's mistake had been in setting his fire where it could be reached by the defenders.

"We were pretty blamed lucky," Caldwell began. "If thet fire----"

"Not so lucky," sang out the Texan. "Look at _that_!"

From the direction of the saloon, a half dozen streaks of flame shot up into the sky like so many rockets. Fire whistled in the wind. The streaks were burning arrows, fired by Hardy's red-skinned cutthroats!

"That settles it!" groaned Tip resignedly. "They're fallin' on the roof!"

It was a wonder Hardy's evil brain hadn't thought of it before.

Possibly some of his savage recruits had suggested it. At any rate, it was more to the rustler chief's purpose than smashing in the door. It would soon be all over for the defenders now.

In a breath, the roof was afire. Little jets of smoke began to spurt down from the beams over their heads, and the flames were fanned into a roar by the wind. Desperately the little handful of fighters exchanged glances. Things looked black indeed. They could not remain long in the burning death trap, and outside was Hardy's gang, waiting in the darkness to shoot them down if they ventured to escape.

"Steady, boys!" encouraged the Texan. "Theah may be a chance fo' us yet."

But one of them--Blake--was overcome with terror. In spite of what the others did to restrain him, he ran outside, tearing his way through the barricade. His hands were raised wildly over his head in token of surrender. But that made no difference to Hardy. There was a dull spat, and Blake went sprawling, shot through the heart.

"I hope n.o.body else tries that," drawled The Kid. "When we go, let's go togethah. By the light of this fiah they can see the colah of ouah eyes. We haven't a chance in the world to escape that way."

"We can't stay here and burn to death!" groaned Terry White.

The heat and smoke were driving them out of the main room. Already flames were creeping down the walls, and the air was as hot as the breath of an oven. Their faces were blistered, their exposed hands cooked. Tip's coat was afire, as all five of them made a dash for the smaller room, taking the extra guns and ammunition with them.

This gave them a short respite. As yet the fire had not reached this apartment, although it would not take long. The smoke was soon so thick as nearly to be blinding. Stationing themselves at the loopholes, they began to work havoc with their rifles and revolvers.

For the outlaws, bolder now, had ventured closer and made good targets in the glare of the burning building.

Suddenly there was a tremendous crash. The roof over the main room had come smashing in! Instantly the fire roared louder; tongues of it began to lick through the walls. Wood popped, and the heat became maddening. One side of the room became a ma.s.s of flames. The imprisoned men began to wet their clothing with the little water that was left.

"The stable!" ordered Kid Wolf. "Quick!"

The stable was built against the side of the store in the rear, and a door of the smaller room opened into it. There they must make their last stand.

The horses--and among them was Kid Wolf's white charger, Blizzard--were trembling with fear. They seemed to know, as well as their masters, that they were in terrible danger.

"We'll make ouah get-away with 'em, when the time comes," drawled the Texan.

"Not a chance in the world, Kid!" Tip groaned.

"Just leave it to me," was the quiet reply. "We've got a slim chance, if mah idea works."

Fanned by the wind, the flames soon were eating at the stable. And once caught, it burned like tinder. The horses screamed as the fire licked at them, and all was confusion. To make matters worse, bullets ripped through continually.