Up until this time, the defenders had not fired a shot. Even now, after the preparations had been made, Kid Wolf advised against wasting ammunition. The rustler gang were firing from the cover of the saloon, and were well protected.
"Hunt up all the guns heah," the Kid cried, "and load 'em. If they rush us, we'll need to shoot fast!"
Several rifles were hunted up—Winchesters and two muzzle-loading Sharps .50s. There were also a powder-and-ball buffalo gun of the old pattern, and, to Kid Wolf's delight, a sawed-off, double-barreled shotgun.
In the light of the early morning, each detail of the grim scene was brought out minutely. It was a picture Kid Wolf never forgot! Across the street that formed the No Man's Land was the saloon, wreathed in powder smoke, as guns spat sullen flame. And swinging slightly above the splintered green-shuttered doors was the dead body of Durham, neck stretched horribly, head on breast. It seemed a grotesque phantom, warning them of death to come.
The horses had been run into the back of the store itself, as a protection against flying bullets. Kid Wolf suggested that they be saddled, so that they would be ready for use if occasion demanded it.
"We might have to make a run fo' it at any time," he warned.
The firing from the saloon went on for nearly an hour. Then there was a sudden lull.
"Look out now!" The Kid exclaimed. "Looks like they mean to rush us!"
"We'll cure 'em o' that!" Old Beef McCay cried grimly. He picked up the sawed-off shotgun.
The Texan was right. A yell went up from the saloon, and a dozen men rushed out, firing as they came. Six others carried a heavy beam, evidently torn from the interior of the Idle Hour. It was their intention to use this as a battering-ram to smash in the door of the store.