“You’re our leader now, sergeant.  Tell us what to do.”

“Just to our right is a shallow gully, running through the cedars.  We can take shelter in it, crawl up it, and open fire on ’em.  They don’t know our numbers, and if we take ’em by surprise maybe we can scatter ’em for the time.”

“I suppose we’ll have to.  I’d like to get away with this map at once, but they’d certainly follow and force us to a fight.”

“That’s true.  We must deal with ’em, now.  I’ll have to ask all of you to be very careful.  Don’t slip, and look out for the dead wood lying about.  If a piece of it cracks under you Slade and Skelly will be sure to notice it, and it’ll be all up with our surprise.”

“You hear,” whispered Dick to the others.  “If you don’t do as the sergeant says, very likely you’ll get shot by Slade’s men.”

With life as the price it was not necessary to say anything more about the need of silence, and nobody slipped and no stick broke as they crept into the gully after the sergeant.  The cedars and thickets almost met over the narrow depression, shutting out the moonlight, but every one was able to discern the man before him creeping forward like a wild animal.  It was easy enough for Dick to imagine himself that famous great grandfather of his, Paul Cotter reincarnated, and that the days of the wilderness and the Indian war bands had come back again.  He even felt exultation as he adapted himself so readily to the situation, and became equal to it.  But Warner was grieved and exasperated.  It hurt his dignity to prowl on his knees through the dark.

They advanced about two hundred yards in a diagonal course along the side of the mountain until they came to a point where the cedars thinned out a little.  Then the sergeant whispered to the others to stop, rose from his knees, and Dick rose beside him.

“See!” he said, nodding his head in the direction in which he wished Dick to look.

Dick saw a number of dark figures standing among the trees.  Two were in close conference, evidently trying to decide upon a plan.  One, a giant in size, was Skelly, and the other, little, weazened and wearing an enormous flap-brimmed hat, could be none but Slade.

“A pretty pair,” said Dick, “but I don’t like to fire on ’em from ambush.”

“Nor do I,” said the sergeant, “but we’ve got to do it, or we won’t get the surprise we need so bad.”

But they were saved from firing the first shot as some one in the gully—­ they never knew or asked his name—­stumbled at last.  Slade and Skelly instantly sprang for the trees and Slade blew sharply upon his whistle.  Twenty shots were fired in the direction of the gully, but they whistled harmlessly over the heads of its occupants.

It was Dick who gave the command for the return volley, and with a mighty shouting they swept the woods with their breech-loading rifles.  They were not sure whether they hit anything, but as the gully blazed with fire they presented all the appearance of a formidable force that might soon charge.