Mead saw that he was the only one for whom protection was possible, and exclaimed, “Say, Tom, this ain’t fair!”

But Tuttle paid no attention to his protest, and began to call loudly: 

“Dysert!  Faustin Dysert!  We know you ’re in there, you and your men, and if you ’ll give yourselves up you won’t get hurt.  But we ‘re goin’ to take you, dead or alive!  If there ’s anybody in there that don’t belong in your gang, send ’em out, and we ’ll let ’em go away peaceable!”

There was no reply from the house.  Evidently those within meant to play a waiting game until they could get the officers of the law under their hands, or perhaps take them unawares.  Tuttle glanced at Mead and saw that he was standing apart from the tree and the piles of wood.  Tom thought of the letter in his friend’s pocket and remembered the look that had crossed his face at the mention of his wife.  Great beads of sweat broke out on Tom’s forehead.  With his lips set and his eyes on those squinting front windows he walked across to his friend and said in a low tone: 

“I reckon, Emerson, we ’d better just stand here and guard the place till they see they ’ll starve to death if they don’t give up.”

Mead turned upon him a look of supreme astonishment.  “It’s your fight, Tom,” he answered coolly, “and if you-all think that’s the best way of fightin’ it, I ’ll stand by and help as long as I ’m needed.  But I did n’t come up here expectin’ to take part in any cold-feet show!”

Tuttle wiped his face vigorously and did not answer.  “I think there’s only one thing to do,” Mead went on, “and that is to rush ’em and make ’em show their hand!”

Tuttle shook his head.  “No, no,” he exclaimed hurriedly, “that wouldn’t do at all, Emerson!”

Mead left him and, keeping the front of the house in the tail of his eye, hurried across the yard to Ellhorn.  “Nick,” he demanded, “what’s the matter with Tommy?  Does he want to take these Greasers or not?”

“Well, Emerson,” said Nick hesitatingly, “I sure reckon the truth is that he’s afraid you ’ll get hurt!”

The ruddy tan of Mead’s face deepened to purple, and a yellow light blazed in his brown eyes.  He strode back to where Tuttle had resumed his post, his fist shot out, and Tom went staggering backward.  “So you-all think I ’m a coward, do you?” he shouted.  Then, wheeling, with a revolver in each hand, he rushed toward the front door.  Nick saw what he purposed to do, and dashed after him with a wild “Whoo-oo-ee!”

Tuttle was left without support.  For a moment he was so dazed by Mead’s blow that he stared about him bewilderedly.  The men inside the house were quick to take advantage of so unexpected a situation.  The windows flashed fire and Tom heard the thud of bullets against the ground at his feet.  One bit his cheek.  With loud and angry oaths he dropped to one knee, rifle in hand, and sent bullets and insults hurtling together through the crashing windows.  Springing to his feet he ran a few steps forward, dropped to his knee again, and with bullets pattering all around him emptied the magazine of his rifle.