Meeker, holding his side because of the pain there from the fall, limped slowly up the hill, waving his sombrero over his head as he advanced.
"What do you want now?—Meeker!" cried a voice from the building. "What's wrong?"
"Everything; come on out—we lose," the foreman cried, shame in his voice.
"Don't you tell us that if you wants us to stay here," came the swift reply. "We're game as long as we last, an' we'll last a long time, too."
"I know it, Doc—" his voice broke—"they've killed Ed an' captured Chick, Dan, an' me. I'd say fight it out, an' I'd fight to th' end, only they'll attack th' ranch house if we do. We're licked, this time!"
"First sensible words you've said since you've been on this range," growled Lanky. "You was licked before you began, if you only knowed it. An' you'll get licked every time, too!"
"Well, we'll come out an' give up if they'll let us all go, including you," cried Doc. "I ain't going to get picked off in th' open while I've got this shack to fight in, not by a blamed sight!"
"It's all right, Doc," Meeker replied. "How's Jack?" he asked, anxiously, not having heard Doc's companion speak.
"Wait an' see," was the reply, and the door opened and the two defenders stepped into sight, bandaged with strips torn from their woollen shirts, the remains of which they did not bother to carry away.
"Who played that gun through th' west window?" asked Doc, angrily.