"Why don't you take after Pecos, Siwash?" asked Matt.
"Kase it's wuth more ter me ter plant myself right hyer an' look arter you. Open this door, 'r I open up on ye, rifle or no rifle."
"I'll not open the door," answered Matt firmly, "and if you try to break it down I'll send some bullets through it. The planks can turn a revolver bullet, but a slug from a rifle will go clean through the wood. Get away from here, Siwash. Your cue is to take after Pecos Jones."
The words ended amid a crash of broken glass. Siwash Charley was shooting through the window. Four shots had already been fired. Matt counted three more. These made seven, and five more shots would empty the ruffian's revolvers.
If he had no more cartridges, he would be helpless. But this was something on which Matt could not count with certainty.
"Keep away from that window, Siwash!" cried Matt, pressing close to the door. "Show yourself there and I'll fire!"
Bang! bang! bang!
"Seven and three are ten," computed Matt. "He'll soon have those weapons emptied. I don't believe he'll show himself at the window, but perhaps I can coax him to shoot again."
Dropping down on hands and knees, Matt crept to a point directly under the window. Having reached this spot, he placed his cap on the muzzle of the rifle and lifted it.
Bang!