A whistle shrilled from behind the house and a leaden tattoo began on the door.  “Other window!” whispered O’Neill.  The foreman got there before him and, shoving his Colt out first to clear the way, yelled with rage and pain as a pole hit his wrist and knocked the weapon out of his hand.  He was still commenting when Duke Lane pried open the door and, dropping quickly on his stomach, wriggled out, followed closely by Charley Beal and Tim.  At that instant the tattoo drummed with greater vigor and such a hail of lead poured in through the opening that the door was promptly closed, leaving the three men outside to shift for themselves with the darkness their only cover.

Duke and his companions whispered together as they lay flat and agreed upon a plan of action.  Going around the ends of the house was suicide and no better than waiting for the rising moon to show them to the enemy; but there was no reason why the roof could not be utilized.  Tim and Charley boosted Duke up, then Tim followed, and the pair on the roof pulled Charley to their side.  Flat roofs were great institutions they decided as they crawled cautiously towards the other side.  This roof was of hard, sun-baked adobe, over two feet thick, and they did not care if their friends shot up on a gamble.

“Fine place, all right,” thought Charley, grinning broadly.  Then he turned an agonized face to Tim, his chest rising. “Hitch!  Hitch!” he choked, fighting with all his will to master it. “Hitch-chew!  Hitch-chew!  Hitch-chew!” he sneezed, loudly.  There was a scramble below and a ripple of mirth floated up to them.

“Hitch-chew?” jeered a voice.  “What do we want to hit you for?”

“Look us over, children,” invited another.

“Wait until the moon comes up,” chuckled the third.  “Be like knocking the nigger baby down for Red an’ the others.  Ladies and gents:  We’ll now have a little sketch entitled ‘Shooting snipe by moonlight.’”

“Jack-snipe, too,” laughed Pete.  “Will somebody please hold the bag?”

The silence on the roof was profound and the three on the ground tried again.

“Let me call yore attention to the trained coyotes, ladies an’ gents,” remarked Johnny in a deep, solemn voice.  “Coyotes are not birds; they do not roost on roofs as a general thing; but they are some intelligent an’ can be trained to do lots of foolish tricks.  These ani-mules were—­”

“Step this way, people; on-ly ten cents, two nickels,” interrupted Pete.  “They bark like dogs, an’ howl like hell.”

“Shut up!” snapped Tim, angrily.

“After the moon comes up,” said Hopalong, “when you fellers get tired dodging, you can chuck us yore guns an’ come down.  An’ don’t forget that this side of the house is much the safest,” he warned.

“Go to hell!” snarled Duke, bitterly.

“Won’t; they’re laying for me down there.”

Johnny crawled to the north end of the wall and, looking cautiously around the corner, funnelled his hands:  “On the roof, Red!  On the roof!”