The interior of the fortress was lighted by three big ceiling lamps. The portholes by the door were shielded from the light by screens. Four men, each with two rifles, stood guard there. That door was the only entrance to the fortress. It was formidable in its metal-studded oak. The Lava Gang were convinced that, before the attackers could batter it down, they could annihilate them by pouring a stream of lead through the portholes. They were supremely confident in their impregnable position.

Three men sat at a table and faced Judge Ransom. The Yuma Kid, Baldy, and several other men lounged against a near-by wall. One of these wore his hat pulled down over his eyes and a handkerchief over his face. He kept to the shadows and did not speak. The judge wondered why he wanted to conceal his identity.

The man in the center of the trio at the table laughed heavily, but there was no mirth in his laughter; it sounded more like the snarl of an animal than anything human.

“Judge, maybe I better explain, so you’ll understand just how serious we are. Did you ever hear of Jean Napoleon? He was a direct descendant of the great Napoleon. He called himself le Diable À Cheval.”

The judge had heard of him, and heard of his terrible cruelty. He nodded.

“Then let me start with myself. You have known me as Francisco Garcia. My real name is Francisco Napoleon. He was my father. The gentleman here on my right, you have known as Bill Anderson, is my brother, Richard Napoleon. On my left you have Mac Kennedy, otherwise Cupid Dart; he also is my brother—Thomas Napoleon. We have a fourth brother; can you guess who he is?” the big, toadlike man asked.

Puzzled, wondering, the judge shook his head.

“You sentenced him to be hung—Pete Cable.” The Toad’s face was mottled with fury; his large, protruding eyes were bloodshot. The judge recoiled from the hate he saw there.

“You understand now we are serious. We will go to any length to save our brother and to avenge him,” the Toad growled.

Bewildered by these revelations, the judge remained silent for a moment, but when he spoke his voice was steady.

“I have nothing more to say. Pete Cable was a murderer, tried and convicted as such. To save my own life, I will certainly not turn him loose,” he said quietly.

“Judge, be sensible. We will surely hang you, if you refuse, and there are some things worse than death. Things that make a man want to die, make him beg for death,” Bill Anderson said calmly.

The judge shuddered. Anderson’s very calmness was far more terrifying than the Toad’s animallike rage. He knew these men were not bluffing, and he had no hope that his friends outside would be able to save him. Yet never for a moment did he consider weakening. He would not turn a beast like Pete Cable loose on the world, in order to save his own life. He summoned his courage to face the ordeal and remained silent.

The three at the table waited, while the judge could hear his own heart pound. At last the Toad beckoned to two men leaning against the wall.

“Sam, suppose you show the judge what the Apaches do to prisoners. Don’t hurt his right hand; he’ll need that to sign a release. Start easy, but show what you can do,” the Toad said.

One of the men, with a pockmarked face, started around the table toward the judge. In spite of himself the judge shivered, then he clenched his hands and waited for what was to come.

“Dios!” one of the guards at the door cried.

Every one swung about to face the door.

Outside there came a chorus of shrill cries, the thumping of horses’ hoofs, and the rumbling of a loaded wagon running wild downhill. For a fraction of a second the men at the table were still; they started to rise, then——

Straight through the window there shot a figure. At first it looked to the judge like some huge cat, for its eyes were flaming pools of fire. For an instant it seemed to remain suspended in the air. As it started to fall toward the floor, jagged streams of fire leaped from two big Colts. One of the guards at the door cried out and toppled from his platform.

The hurtling figure struck the floor, somersaulted, and, with its guns spitting fire, bounced to its feet. The Yuma Kid’s guns came into play first, then Baldy’s and Cupid Dart’s. The room was filled with a continuous bellow of hellish noise, clouds of acrid smoke, and streams of fire. Then, above the boom of guns, came a grinding smash, overwhelming all the other noises by its volume.

Every man in the room now had his gun out, firing at that bounding figure. Allen was in lightning action; he leaped by one man, spun about, and used him for a shield. His guns empty, he snatched out another pair from his holsters. The Yuma Kid fired at him. Flame from the gun burned his cheek, but the shot missed. As he ducked by the Kid, Allen fired in turn. The gunman stood for a moment with a startled look on his face, took two or three tottering steps, and fell straight forward on his face.

Smash! Smash!

The heavy battering ram beat at the door. The thick oak splintered, hung by one hinge.

The room was full of smoke cut by lightning, and through it the judge saw Allen leaping, ducking, and dodging. He was slower now; but always red flame poured in continuous streams from his two guns.

Cupid Dart was down, sprawled across the table. The Toad, one hand clutching his chest, was trying to bring his wavering gun on Allen.

Another crash, the door came down. Led by Sam Hogg, men poured into the room. A few more shots, and it was over.

The judge had not moved from his position before the table. Scarcely a minute had passed since Allen came flying through the window. Yet death had struck on all hands.

“Yuh all right, judge?” Sam Hogg bawled hoarsely.

The judge was speechless. Tom Powers ran through the swirling smoke and threw his arm around Ransom’s shoulders. Slowly the dense, blue-white fog melted away and revealed the wreckage.

The Yuma Kid lay dead, almost at the judge’s feet. Cupid Dart was sprawled on the table, and even as the judge watched, his body fell in a heap to the floor. Baldy was dead against the wall. Three others lay sprawled on the floor. The Toad was dying, breathing curses through the bloody froth on his lips. The rest of the outlaws were prisoners, their faces full of terror and their hands upraised.

The judge saw Jim-twin Allen leaning weakly against the farther wall. Each hand still held a Colt; smoke gently curled from the barrels. Tom Powers sprang toward Allen, but before he reached him Snippets dodged through the door and was by his side.

“Jim!”

“I done it!” he said, grinning at her.

One side of his face was burned black; a little trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth to stain his chin. He stood on one leg; the other hung limp and twisted.

“Ace Cutts—cover him—so the judge—won’t—know,” he whispered.

His guns slipped from his hands and fell to the floor. He smiled at Snippets.

Tom Powers caught him as he swayed forward. Sam Hogg pushed the sheriff away, almost fiercely.

“Let me tend to him!” he cried.

After an examination he arose to his feet, and there were tears in his eyes.

“He was hit six times—once through the chest, twice in the leg—and got a rib smashed. The others don’t count. But the little runt is going to live!”

Two riders were sent to town for a doctor. With the first streak of dawn Allen was carried in a litter across the border, where, five hours later, the doctor confirmed Sam Hogg’s opinion. Allen had a chance.

Later that day, when the Mexican soldiers arrived, they found six men dangling from beams in the adobe house, and seven others laid in a row and covered with blankets. Anderson had been one of the unlucky ones to die at the end of a rope.

Tom Powers started a collection to pay a famous bonesetter to come from San Francisco and set Allen’s leg, but Sam Hogg insisted on bearing the expense himself.

“The little cuss aggravates yuh, ’cause he won’t tell what he’s doin’, but I’m tellin’ yuh he’s a seven-eyed wonder for guts, so I’m payin’ to have his leg fixed,” he explained.

Anderson’s power being broken, the judge’s dreams appeared destined to come true.

One night, six weeks after the battle, when the nurse entered Allen’s room, she found him gone.

He and his grays had started on their return trip home—home to that valley of his in the Painted Desert.