only one thing to do," Mead went on, "and that is to rush 'em and make
'em show their hand!"

Tuttle shook his head. "No, no," he exclaimed hurriedly, "that
wouldn't do at all, Emerson!"

Mead left him and, keeping the front of the house in the tail of his
eye, hurried across the yard to Ellhorn. "Nick," he demanded, "what's
the matter with Tommy? Does he want to take these Greasers or not?"

"Well, Emerson," said Nick hesitatingly, "I sure reckon the truth is
that he's afraid you 'll get hurt!"

The ruddy tan of Mead's face deepened to purple, and a yellow light
blazed in his brown eyes. He strode back to where Tuttle had resumed
his post, his fist shot out, and Tom went staggering backward. "So
you-all think I 'm a coward, do you?" he shouted. Then, wheeling, with
a revolver in each hand, he rushed toward the front door. Nick saw
what he purposed to do, and dashed after him with a wild "Whoo-oo-ee!"

Tuttle was left without support. For a moment he was so dazed by
Mead's blow that he stared about him bewilderedly. The men inside the
house were quick to take advantage of so unexpected a situation. The
windows flashed fire and Tom heard the thud of bullets against the
ground at his feet. One bit his cheek. With loud and angry oaths he
dropped to one knee, rifle in hand, and sent bullets and insults
hurtling together through the crashing windows. Springing to his feet
he ran a few steps forward, dropped to his knee again, and with bullets
pattering all around him emptied the magazine of his rifle.