He shouted to the men to leave their horses and "take cover," and he himself sought the only cover near him--a wide fissure in the wall of the long slope below the point where the attackers were concealed.

Streak, apparently aware of the danger, followed Sanderson into the shelter of the fissure.

It was an admirable spot for an ambuscade. Sanderson saw that there were few places in which his men could conceal themselves, for the hostile force occupied both sides of the defile. Their rifles were still popping, and Sanderson saw two of the Double A force go down before they could find shelter.

Sanderson divined what had happened--Dale and his men had overpowered Owen, and had set this ambuscade for himself and the Double A men.

Dale was determined to murder all of them; it was to be a fight to a finish--that grim killing of an entire outfit, which, in the idiomatic phraseology of the cowpuncher, is called a "clean-up."

Sanderson was aware of the disadvantage which must be faced, but there was no indication of fear or excitement in his manner. It was not the first time he had been in danger, and he drew his belt tighter and examined his pistols as he crouched against the ragged wall of the fissure. Then, calling Streak to him, he pulled his rifle out of the saddle holster and examined the magazine.

Rifle in hand, he first surveyed the wall of the defile opposite him.

The crevice in which he was hiding was irregular at the entrance, and a jutting shoulder of it concealed him from view from the wall of the defile opposite him. Another projection, opposite the jutting shoulder, protected him from any shots that might be aimed at him from his left.

The fissure ran, with sharp irregularities, clear up the face of the wall behind him. He grinned with satisfaction when he saw that there were a number of places along the upward line of the fissure which would afford him concealment in an offensive battle with Dale's men.

He contemplated making things rather warm for the Dale contingent presently; but first he must make sure that none of his own men was exposed to danger.

Cautiously, then, he laid his head close to the ragged wall of the fissure and peered upward and outward. Behind a big boulder on the opposite side of the defile he saw a man's head appear.

Watching for a time, Sanderson made certain the man was not one of his own outfit, and then he shoved the muzzle of his rifle out, laid his cheek against the stock, and covered the partly exposed head of the man behind the boulder.

Sanderson waited long with his cheek caressing the rifle stock, while the man behind the boulder wriggled farther out, exposing himself more and more in his eagerness to gain a more advantageous position.

And presently, without moving his head, Sanderson discovered that it was Williams who was in danger.

Williams had concealed himself behind a jagged rock, which protected him from the bullets fired from across the defile, and from the sides.

But the rock afforded him no protection from the rear, and the man behind the boulder was going to take advantage of his opportunity.

"That's my engineer, mister," he said grimly; "an' I ain't lettin' you make me go to the trouble of sendin' east for another. You're ready now, eh?"

The man behind the boulder had reached a position that satisfied him.

Sanderson saw him snuggle the stock of his rifle against his shoulder.

Sanderson's rifle cracked viciously. The man behind the boulder was lying on a slight slope, and when Sanderson's bullet struck him, he gently rolled over and began to slide downward. He came--a grotesque, limp thing--down the side of the defile, past the engineer, sliding gently until he landed in a queer-looking huddle at the bottom, near the trail.

Sanderson intently examined other rocks and boulders on the opposite side of the defile. He had paid no attention to Williams' "Good work, Sanderson!" except to grin and a.s.sure himself that Williams hadn't "lost his nerve."

Presently at an angle that ran obliquely upward from a flat, projecting ledge, behind which another Double A man lay, partly concealed, Sanderson detected movement.

It was only a hat that he saw this time, and a glint of sunlight on the barrel of a rifle. But he saw that the rifle, after moving, became quite motionless, and he suspected that it was about to be used.

Again the cheek snuggled the stock of his rifle.

"This is goin' to be some shot--if I make it!" he told himself just before he fired. "There ain't nothin' to shoot at but one of his ears, looks like."

But at the report of the rifle, the weapon that had been so rigid and motionless slipped from behind the rock and clattered downward. It caught halfway between the rock and the bottom of the defile. There came no sound from behind the rook, and no movement.

"Got him!" yelled Williams. "Go to it! There's only two more on this side, that I can see. They're trying mighty hard to perforate me--I'm losing weight dodging around here trying to keep them from drawing a bead on me. If I had a rifle----"

Williams' voice broke off with the crash of a rifle behind him, though a little to one side. Talking to Sanderson, and trying to see him, Williams had stuck his head out a little too far. The bullet from the rifle of the watching enemy clipped off a small piece of the engineer's ear.

Williams' voice rose in impotent rage, filling the defile with profane echoes. Sanderson did not hear Williams. He had chanced to be looking toward the spot from whence the smoke spurt came.

A fallen tree, its top branches hanging down the wall of the defile, provided concealment from which the enemy had sent his shot at Williams. Sanderson snapped a shot at the point where he had seen the smoke streak, and heard a cry of rage.

A man, his face distorted with pain, stood up behind the fallen tree trunk, the upper part of his body in plain view.

His rage had made him reckless, and he had stood erect the better to aim his rifle at the fissure in which Sanderson was concealed. He fired--and missed, for Sanderson had ducked at the movement. Sanderson heard the bullet strike the rock wall above his head, and go ricochetting into the cleft behind him.

He peered out again instantly, to see that the man was lying doubled across the fallen tree trunk, his rifle having dropped, muzzle down, in some bushes below him.

Sanderson heard Williams' voice, raised in savage exultation:

"Nip my ear, will you--yon measly son-of-a-gun! I'll show you!

"Got him with my pistol!" he yelled to one of the Double A men near him. "Come on out and fight like men, you miserable whelps!"

The young engineer's fighting blood was up--that was plain to Sanderson. Sanderson grinned, yielded to a solemn hope that Williams would not get reckless and expose himself needlessly, and began to examine the walls of the fissure to determine on a new offensive movement.

He was interrupted, though, by another shout from Williams.

"Got him!" yelled the engineer; "plumb in the beezer!"

Sanderson peered out, to see the body of a man come tumbling down the opposite wall of the defile.

"That's all on this side!" Williams informed the others, shouting.

"Now let's get at the guys on the other side and salivate them!"

Again Sanderson grinned at the engineer's enthusiasm. That enthusiasm was infectious, for Sanderson heard some of the other men laughing.

The laughing indicated that they now entertained a hope of ultimate victory--a hope which they could not have had before Williams and Sanderson had disposed of the enemies at their rear.

Sanderson, too, was imbued with a spirit of enthusiasm. He began to climb the walls of the crevice, finding the ragged rock projections admirably convenient for footing.

However, his progress was slow, for he had to be careful not to let his head show above the edge of the rock that formed the fissure; and so he was busily engaged for the greater part of half an hour before he finally reached a position from which he thought he could get a glimpse of the men on his side of the defile.

Meanwhile there had been no sound from the bottom, or the other side of the defile, except an occasional report of a rifle, which told that Dale's men were firing, or the somewhat more crashing report of a pistol, which indicated that his own men were replying.

From where he crouched in the fissure, Sanderson could see some of the horses at the bottom of the defile. They were grazing unconcernedly.

Scattered along the bottom of the defile were the men who had fallen at the first fire, and Sanderson's eye glinted with rage when he looked at them; for he recognized some of them as men of the outfit for whom he had conceived a liking. Two of Williams' men were lying there, too, and Sanderson's lips grimmed as he looked at them.

Thoroughly aroused now, Sanderson replaced the empty cartridges in the rifle with loaded ones, and, finding a spot between two small boulders, he shoved the muzzle of the rifle through.

He had no fear of being shot at from the rear, for the men had permitted him to go far enough through the defile to allow the others following him to come into range before they opened fire.

Thus Sanderson was between the Dale outfit and the Double A ranchhouse, and he had only to look back in the direction from which he and Williams had come. None of the Dale men could cross the fissure.

Cautiously Sanderson raised his head above the rocky edge of the fissure. He kept his head concealed behind the two small boulders and he had an uninterrupted view of the entire side of the defile.