It was a risky thing to attempt. To venture outside would be to expose themselves in the bright moonlight to the bullets of the feudalists, but the two plucky lads never hesitated. The body lay not a dozen steps from the cabin and it would not do to let his fellows approach that close to the little fort. Either they must save him themselves, if he was not already dead, or leave him to die alone in the night.

"We must be quick about it," Charley declared. "As soon as I unlatch the door, we must run out, grab him by the shoulders, and drag him in—he's too heavy to lift."

In this bold move fortune seemed to favor the lads. They got their heavy burden to the door before a shot was fired and, then, the bullets whistled harmlessly above their heads.

"We were lucky that time," Charley panted as he barred the door again. "Now keep a sharp lookout. I'll have to light that lamp again."

"This fellow is not so very badly hurt," he announced, as soon as he had examined his new patient. "The bullet has gone right through the fleshy part of his shoulder. He will come out of it all right if the wound is kept clean." In a few minutes he had washed and dressed the wound as he had the other man's, then, putting out the light once more, he rejoined his companion at the loophole. "Anything stirring?" he inquired.

"No, I don't even hear their voices now. Perhaps they will not bother us again to-night," Walter replied, hopefully.

"I am not worrying about them as much as I am this wind," said his chum gloomily. "We are safe enough here so long as the grub and water holds out, but, God knows how it is faring with Chris and the captain."

The gale was now howling and whistling around the little cabin with a force to justify Charley's gloomy apprehension. The boys had to speak loudly to make themselves heard above its uproar. They soon abandoned all attempts at conversation and waited wearily and silently for another assault from the feudalists and for the coming of day.

Either the ruffians had at last become over-powered by the liquor they had drank or else they had decided to wait the coming of day, for they did not again show themselves in the clearing. Day, however, came at last, after what seemed to the exhausted lads an age of waiting.

As soon as it became light enough to see, Charley removed the bandages from their stricken host and redressed his wound more carefully. "His pulse is getting stronger and there is some color in his face," he remarked to his chum. "I believe, I could bring him to, but I guess it's best to let him lie unconscious as long as he can. He will suffer enough when he does regain consciousness."

As soon as he finished with Turner, Charley turned to his other patient who was beginning to move uneasily and show signs of returning consciousness. While he was yet bathing his wound the man opened his eyes.

"Gosh! how my shoulder hurts," he growled. "Be mighty careful how you touch it, young fellow, or I'll skin you alive."

Charley set aside the basin of water and rising to his feet looked down on the fellow with a face full of scorn.

"You great, big, drunken, cowardly murderer," he exclaimed. "It's a pity that bullet didn't kill you. You are not fit to live on God's green earth. You're shot when trying, with a crowd of your fellows, to kill a lone, inoffensive man. Your friends don't think enough of you to come back and get your carcass. We bring you in and care for you and instead of thanks, your first words are a growl and a threat. You are a cowardly, disgraceful cur,—that's what you are."

Astonished rage filled the man's face. "No man ever said words like that to Jim Wright and lived," he gasped. He attempted to rise but was too weak to gain his feet, and sank back with a groan.

"Oh, I guess you won't do any killing for a little while," sneered Charley, whose anger was at white heat. "I've no doubt people have been afraid to tell you the truth before, but you are going to hear it for once in your life. I've no doubt with your strength and disposition you've bullied everything until they are afraid to do anything but flatter you, but, now you are going to take a dose of your own medicine." Then, seating himself just out of reach of the man's powerful arms, he proceeded to tell him what he thought of him in words that stung with contempt and scorn. Then, as his anger subsided, he repeated the story Turner had told him, contrasting Turner's quiet, patient, peaceful heroism with the other's blood-thirstiness and violence, with all the power of the earnestness he felt.

At first the man kept interrupting him with curses and abuse, but as he went calmly on ignoring the interruptions the fellow lay quiet, his face turned to the wall.

Once Charley stopped, thinking he might have fainted he lay so still, but he spoke up gruffly.

"Did I kill him?"

"No, but it's not your fault that you didn't," the lad replied, curtly, and went on with his arraignment. "I don't care a hang what you and your cowardly fellows think," he concluded, "all decent people would say that that poor fellow lying there is a brave hero while you are the mean-spirited, cowardly one. And, now, if you'll lie quiet and keep your mouth shut, I'll dress that wound. I hate to pollute my hands by touching you, but it's got to be done."

The man lay quiet while the lad washed and bound up his wound. Charley could see that his features were working convulsively, but whether from rage or pain he could not determine.

As soon as his task was completed, Charley relieved his chum at the loophole and Walter set about making coffee and cooking some breakfast. They were both sadly in need of food and felt much better after they had eaten. As soon as they had finished, Charley made his chum lie down to take a nap, promising to call him, and lie down himself in a couple of hours.

While Walter was asleep Turner came out of the deep swoon which had followed his wound. He was weak and in terrible pain but in full possession of his senses. It was evident that he was greatly bewildered at the sight of his enemy lying helpless on the floor, and Charley explained the situation to him in a few words.

"I sho' am glad I didn't kill him," said the sick man, thankfully. "I jes' shot at his laigs, the gun must have gone off when I fell. I am sho' sorry I hurt you so bad, Jim, I didn't aim for to do hit."

But Wright kept his face turned to the wall and answered not a word.

As the morning advanced Charley was much puzzled by the constant sound of hammering coming from the woods near the clearing. It was evident their enemies were preparing another surprise but he could not guess at its nature.

All the morning long the hammering continued, then shortly before noon there emerged from the woods an object which caused him at first, to stare in bewildered surprise, and, then, as it drew nearer the cabin to send him to shaking Walter, whom he had let sleep on.

"Wake up! Wake up!" he cried. "We have got to fight for our lives. Those fellows have built a heavy breastwork on the front of a wagon and are shoving it ahead of them up to the cabin."

"Young fellows! help me up and help me to that loophole," gruffly commanded the wounded man on the floor. "Don't hesitate," he cried as the lad was about to refuse the surprising command, "them fellows have got a couple of sticks of dynamite in that cart an' if they get near enough to throw it thar won't be enough left of this cabin to make a good toothpick. We was aiming to use it last night if we couldn't get Turner no other way."

Between them the two startled lads got the big fellow on his feet and supported him to the loophole where he leaned against the logs, his face twitching with the pain of his effort.

It was just in time, for the wagon with its burden of death was scarce a hundred feet away when he shouted: "Stop where yer are, boys. Thar ain't no call to throw any of that stuff."

"Is that you, Cap?" called one of the men. "Why, we 'lowed yer was dead."

"An' I might have been for all of yu fellows, leaving me to die on the ground like a poisoned dog."

He paused while a chorus of excuses came from the men behind the breastwork.

"Well, I ain't dead, but it ain't no thanks to yu fellows," he went on slowly and painfully. "Now, yu fellows jes' roll that wagon back whar hit came from an' go home and behave yerselves. Yu fellows know me an' know I'll do what I say. Hit's jes' come to me, an' hit's come in a powerful rough way, that I've been powerful mean, pisen an' onery. My eyes am sho' opened at last, an' I'm powerful ashamed of how I've been carryin' on. But hit's all over now. From now on Bill Turner is my friend, an' the man that lifts a finger again' him lifts it again' me, an' me an' my close kin will make this place too hot to hold him. That's all I've got to say. Now, go home."

Murmurs of astonishment arose from the men behind the wagon as they slowly but obediently backed the wagon towards the woods. Over the face of the wounded man on the bed stole a look of joy unspeakable.

The bewildered but delighted boys helped Wright back to his place on the floor.

"I want to shake hands with you, Mr. Wright," said Charley, earnestly. "I am afraid I talked pretty rough to you."

"I needed hit," said the other as he took the proffered hand. "Hit's a pity, young fellow, that thar ain't more like yu down in this neck of thar woods."