Loudon jerked Johnny down just as a bullet gashed the side of a post above his head. Johnny ceased talking and ran hurriedly to where Chuck Morgan was kneeling behind a corner of the corral. Loudon joined Laguerre at the other corner.
The four were in an excellent position. The corral commanded the rear and one side of the sheriff's shack, the rear of the Happy Heart Saloon, and one side of the barn in the rear of the Blue Pigeon Store.
A man ran out of the barn. Laguerre's rifle cracked. The man stumbled, dropped, dragged himself to his hands and knees, and then huddled down slackly. Laguerre pumped in another cartridge. The staccato din at the other end of town was increasing. The heavy roars of several buffalo guns punctuated the steady crackling of the Winchesters' whip-like reports. Loudon smiled a slow smile and cuddled his rifle-butt against his shoulder. The world was coming his way at last.
"That sheriff wouldn't 'a' built his corral so solid," observed Loudon, "if he'd looked ahead."
"You bet he wouldn'," said Laguerre. "Dees log ees fine. No bullet come troo dem. Bimeby we geet Meestair Block, mebbeso."
"He may be down in the Happy Heart. There ain't been a shot from the shack yet. He's in town all right though. His hoss and seven others are in the corral"—Loudon peered through a crack in the logs—"I can't see the brands. They're turned the wrong way."
"Dere ees a lot o' pony een dat corral down dere," said Laguerre.
"That's behind the Happy Heart Saloon. Lord help 'em if they try to slide out on 'em."
Zing-g-g! A bullet ricochetted from a near-by boulder and hummed above Loudon's hat.
"That came from the barn," said Loudon, firing at a gray smoke-cloud high up on the side of the structure. "They've knocked a hole in a board, I guess. Yep"—as the thinning smoke revealed a black opening—"they have."