Westcott was first at the rim, staring eagerly downward.  It was growing dusk down there in the depths, yet was still light enough to enable him to perceive movement, and the outlines of the cabins.  For a moment all he noticed was a man lying on the ground in front of the small hut, but almost immediately men began to swarm out through the door of the bunk-house, and a horseman came spurring from the field beyond.

The men were armed, several with guns in their hands; all with revolvers buckled at the waist, and they bunched there, just outside the door, evidently startled, but not knowing which way to turn.  The figure on the ground lifted itself partly, and the fellow must have called to the others, although no sound of a voice attained the summit of the cliff, for the whole gang rushed in that direction, and clustered about, gesticulating excitedly.

An occasional Spanish oath exploded from the mass with sufficient vehemence to reach the strained ears above, and the watchers were able to perceive the fellows lift the fallen man to his feet, and untie his hands, which were apparently secured behind his back.  He must have been wounded also, for one sleeve was hastily rolled up, and water brought from the stream, in which it was bathed.  Not until this had been attended to did the crowd fall away, sufficiently to permit the fellow himself to be distinctly seen.  Moore’s hand closed convulsively on the marshal’s arm.

“It’s ol’ Mendez, as I’m a livin’ sinner,”, he announced hoarsely.  “An’ somebody’s plunked him.  What’d yer make o’ that?”

Brennan never removed his gaze from the scene below, but his face was tense with interest.

“Blamed if I know; might be a mere row—­hold on, there!  Whoever did it is in that cabin; watch what they’re up to, now.”

The three hung there scanning every movement of those below, too intently interested to talk, yet unable for some time to determine clearly what was impending.  Occasionally the sound of a voice reached them, shouting orders in Spanish, and men came and went in obedience to the commands.  More guns were brought forth from the bunk-house, and distributed; the single horseman rode swiftly up the valley, and a half-dozen of the fellows lugged a heavy timber up from the corral, and dropped it on the ground in front of the smaller cabin.  Mendez, his arm in a sling, passed from group to group, profanely busy, snapping out orders.

“They are going to break in the door with that log!” muttered Westcott between his clenched teeth.  “That white-head down there is boiling with rage, and whoever the poor devil, or devils, may be, they’ll have to fight.”

“Yes, but who are they?” and Brennan sat up.  “The whole gang must be outside there; I counted fourteen.  Then, did you notice?  Mendez had his hands bound behind his back.  He couldn’t even get up until those fellows untied him.  That’s what puzzles me.”