“You mean we are helpless?”

“Wal, not precisely; not while our grub and ammunition holds out.  I merely intimate thet this yere difficulty hes naturally got ter be thrashed out with guns—­good, honest fightin’—­afore any courts will git a chance even ter sit inter ther game.  We ain’t got no time jist now ter fool with lawyers.  Clubs is trumps this deal in Echo Canyon, an’ we ‘re goin’ ter play a lone hand.  Ther one thing what’s botherin’ me is, how soon ther damned fracas is goin’ ter begin.  I reckon as how them fellers is only waitin’ fer reinforcements.”

Winston sat motionless, looking at the two men, his mind rapidly grasping the salient points of the situation.  He was thoroughly puzzled at their apparent indifference to its seriousness.  He was unused to this arbitrament of the rifle, and the odds against them seemed heavy.  Old Hicks easily comprehended the expression upon his face, and solemnly stroked his goat-beard.

“Ain’t used ter that sort o’ thing, hey?” he asked at last, his obstinate old eyes contracting into mere slits.  “Reckon we’re in a sort o’ pickle, don’t ye?  Wal, I don’t know ’bout that.  Yer see, me an’ Stutter have bin sort o’ lookin’ fer somethin’ like this ter occur fer a long time, an’ we ’ve consequently got it figgered out ter a purty fine p’int.  When Farnham an’ his crowd come moseying up yere, they ain’t goin’ ter have it all their own way, let me tell yer, pardner.  Do yer see that straight face o’ rock over yonder?” he rose to his feet, pointing across his shoulder.  “Wal, that ’s got a front o’ thirty feet, an’ slopes back ‘bout as fur, with a shelf hangin’ over it like a roof.  Best nat’ral fort ever I see, an’ only one way o’ gittin’ inter it, an’ that the devil o’ a crooked climb.  Wal, we ’ve stocked that place fer a siege with chuck an’ ammunition, an’ I reckon four men kin ’bout hold it agin the whole county till hell freezes over.  It’s in easy rifle shot o’ both ther cabin an’ ther shaft, an’ that Biff Farnham is mighty liable ter git another shock when he comes traipsin’ up yere fer ter wipe out ther ‘Little Yankee.’  Ol’ Bill Hicks ain’t bin prospectin’ fer thirty years, an’ holdin’ down claims with a gun, without learnin’ somethin’ about ther business.  I ’m ready to buck this yere Farnham at any game he wants ter play; damned if he can’t take his chice, law er rifles, an’ I ’ll give him a bellyful either way.”

No one spoke for a long while, the three men apparently occupied with their own thoughts.  To Winston it was a tragedy, picturesque, heroic, the wild mountain setting furnishing a strange dignity.  Brown finally cleared his throat, preparing to speak, his great hand slowly rubbing his chin.

“I-I sorter w-w-wish them w-wimmen wan’t y-yere,” he stuttered, doubtfully.

The engineer glanced up in sudden astonishment.

“Women!” he exclaimed.  “Do you mean to say you have women with you?”