"The bandits! the bandits!" cried half a dozen voices, and then all was confusion about the ranch buildings.
Down upon the houses swept the bandits, secure in their saddles, all dark-faced ruffians, who had plundered more than one good ranch, and left but misery and death in their train.
But this time there was to be a stubborn defense.
The bandits were suddenly checked by a sheet of flame that seemed to burst from every window of the ranch-house.
Blacklocks and his demons fell back—recoiled with cries of fright and agony.
The defenders of Round Robin Ranch had determined to fight to the last extremity, and were firing accordingly.
Their bullets told; men reeled from the light saddles, and horses pitched in every direction in the throes of death.
Volley after volley poured from the ranch, and whichever way the bandits turned they met the same sheet of fire.
Blacklocks himself was unhorsed and struck down, but he led his men on again.
At last the scoundrels gave way.