Bang! It was the leader himself who fired. The bullet clipped off a leaf within an inch of Sergeant Overton's ear.

Crack! The boyish young sergeant was all there with the grit. He fired straight back at the leader, the bullet striking the rock before the other's face.

Now two more shots clipped close to the young soldier. Hal answered with one.

But he tried to steady himself. He realized that he had but three fighting shots left, and that he must make them count.

"But maybe three are enough to last me as long as I'm going to live, anyway," reflected Sergeant Overton grimly.

There was not much comfort in that thought, but Hal drew himself around more behind the tree trunk in order to shield himself as much as possible, although the tree trunk would be no real protection from bullets.

The Army bullet, at an ordinary range, will pierce three solid feet of standing oak.

CHAPTER XX

THE EIGHTH MOCCASIN APPEARS

"GIVE it up?" queried the leader.

"I answered you before on that head," retorted Sergeant Overton.

"Don't be a fool, kid. We don't want to hurt you. All we want is that revolver."

"I don't want to give it up," rejoined Hal.

"You'd better!"

"It isn't mine to give, anyway. It belongs to the United States Government."

"Uncle Sam will never see that revolver again," declared the leader of the invaders, with profane emphasis. "And you'll never see your friends again if you don't hit it fast for the ground."

"I'm here until further orders."

"You've got your orders!"

"I don't take any orders from you," retorted Hal with fine scorn.

"Open up on the fool, boys--all together!"

Three spurts of flame jetted out from the cover that the ruffians had taken.

Hal steadied his arm by resting it across a branch before him, and fired back, his aim, as before, at the leader.

He had the satisfaction of seeing that rascal's head duck below cover.

Though he could not know it then, Overton had clipped a lock of hair from the fellow's hatless head.

Another volley, which Hal answered with another shot.

"What do you fellows want with guns if you can't shoot better!" hailed Overton derisively.

He didn't want them to shoot any better, but he was trying to anger them and thus make their shooting wilder.

"It won't take us more than half a minute more to get you," flung back the leader.

Now that fellow raised himself, exposing himself more, but getting a solid left-hand rest for his rifle.

Hal could see and feel that the rifle was pointed fairly at him.

On the instinct of the moment the young sergeant fired. And he would have scored, had he not seen the other two riflemen leaving their cover also to get a better aim. That realization spoiled his shot.

"Gracious! That was my last cartridge, too!" groaned the young sergeant inwardly.

The realization made him feel creepy. It is one thing to fight bravely, when one has the fighting tools and a knowledge of their use. But it is quite another thing to face the certainty of being helpless with so many armed foes bent on one's destruction.

None the less, summoning up all his courage, Hal broke the revolver at the breech, allowing the ejector to shed the empty sh.e.l.ls on the ground underneath.

With lightning motions Hal went through the sham of filling his cylinder with fresh cartridges.

"No use, little man! No use at all. If you had any more cartridges you'd get me now--but you can't. Come on, boys! We'll go under the tree and smoke him out!"

As he spoke, the leader moved boldly from cover, exposing the whole length of his body.

It would have made a splendid mark for as expert a shot as Sergeant Hal Overton. The soldier boy did raise his revolver, as though to shoot, but the leader, coolly confident, continued to come forward.

Of course Hal could not shoot, and the rest seeing that, also came out from cover.

Chuckling, all but the one whose jaw Hal had injured, the wretches moved forward, halting just under the tree.

"Coming down now?" demanded the leader, directing the muzzle of his stolen rifle up the tree.

"I don't know," mimicked Hal.

"Ever hear what the treed 'c.o.o.n said to Davy Crockett?" inquired the scoundrel facetiously.

"If it's a chestnut I'll stand hearing it again," proposed the young sergeant.

"Well, friend, when the racc.o.o.n saw Davy pointing his gun upward, he called down: 'Don't shoot, Davy! I'll come down.'"

"Great!" mocked young Overton.

"Are you going to do like the 'c.o.o.n?"

Hal's answer was to raise his right hand suddenly and hurling his now useless revolver.