Wounded though he was, Houck managed to make a good deal of trouble for the punchers before they pinned him down and took the forty-five from him.  His great strength was still at command, and he had the advantage that neither of his rescuers wanted to injure him during the struggle.  They thrashed over the ground, arms and legs outflung wildly.  Houck gave up only when his vigor collapsed.

His surrender was complete.  He lay weak and panting, bleeding from reopened wounds, for the time as helpless and submissive as a child.

From a canteen they gave him water.  Afterward they washed and tied up the wounds, bathed the fevered face, and kept the mosquitoes from him by fanning them away.

“Expect I’d better take a pasear an’ see where Mr. Ute’s at,” Dud said.  “He’s liable to drap in onexpected while we’re not lookin’ - several of him, huntin’ for souvenirs in the scalp line for to decorate his belt with.”

From the little opening he crept into the thicket of saplings and disappeared.  Bob waited beside the delirious man.  His nerves were keyed to a high tension.  For all he knew the beadlike eyes of four or five sharpshooters might be peering at him from the jungle.

The sound of a shot startled him.  It came from the direction in which Dud had gone.  Had he been killed?  Or wounded?  Bob could not remain longer where he was.  He too crept into the willows, following as well as he could the path of Hollister.

There came to him presently the faint crackle of twigs.  Some one or something was moving in the bosk.  He lay still, heart thumping violently.  The sound ceased, began again.

Bob’s trembling hand held a revolver pointed in the direction of the snapping branches.  The willows moved, opened up, and a blond, curly head appeared.

Bob’s breath was expelled in a long sigh of relief.  “Wow!  I’m glad to see you.  Heard that shot an’ thought maybe they’d got you.”

“Not so you can notice it,” Dud replied cheerfully.  “But they’re all round us.  I took a crack at one inquisitive buck who had notions of collectin’ me.  He ce’tainly hit the dust sudden as he vamosed.”

“What’ll we do?”

“I found a kinda buffalo wallow in the willows.  We’ll move in on a lease an’ sit tight till Harshaw an’ the boys show up.”

They carried and dragged Houck through the thicket to the saucer-shaped opening Hollister had discovered.  The edges of this rose somewhat above the surrounding ground.  Using their spurs to dig with, the cowpunchers deepened the hollow and packed the loose dirt around the rim in order to heighten the rampart.

From a distance came the sound of heavy, rapid firing, of far, faint yells.

“The boys are attackin’ the gulch,” Dud guessed.  “Sounds like they might be makin’ a clean-up too.”

It was three o’clock by Bob’s big silver watch.  Heat waves were shimmering in the hollow and mosquitoes singing.  Occasionally Houck’s voice rose in delirious excitement.  Sometimes he thought the Utes were torturing him.  Again he lived over scenes in the past.  Snatches of babble carried back to the days of his turbulent youth when all men’s cattle were his.  In the mutterings born of a sick brain Bob heard presently the name of June.

“...  Tell you I’ve took a fancy to you.  Tell you Jake Houck gets what he wants.  No sense you rarin’ around, June.  I’m yore man....  Mine, girl.  Don’t you ever forget it.  Mine for keeps....  Use that gun, damn you, or crawl into a hole.  I’m takin’ yore wife from you.  Speak yore piece.  Tell her to go with me.  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!”

The firing came nearer.

Again Dud guessed what was taking place.  “They’ve got the Utes outa the gulch an’ are drivin’ them down the valley.  Right soon they’re liable to light on us hard.  Depends on how much the boys are pressin’ them.”

They had two rifles and four revolvers, for Houck had lately become a two-gun man.  These they examined carefully to make sure they were in order.  The defenders crouched back to back in the pit, each of them searching the thicket for an angle of one hundred and eighty degrees.

The sound of the battle died down.  Evidently the pursuers were out of contact with the natives.

“Don’t like that,” Dud said.  “If the Utes have time they’ll try to pick us up as they’re passin’.”

Bob fired.

“See one?” asked his friend.

“Think so.  Something moved.  Down in that hollow.  He’s outa sight now.”

“They’ve got us located, then.  Old Man Trouble headed this way.  Something liable to start.  Soon now.”

The minutes dragged.  Bob’s eyes blurred from the intensity with which he watched.

A bullet struck the edge of the pit.  Bob ducked involuntarily.  Presently there was a second shot - and a third.

“They’re gettin’ warm,” Dud said.

He and Bob fired at the smoke puffs, growing now more frequent.  Both of them knew it would be only a short time till one of them was hit unless their friends came to the rescue.  Spurts of sand flew every few moments.

There was another undesirable prospect.  The Utes might charge and capture the pit, wiping out the defenders.  To prevent this the cowpunchers kept up as lively a fire as possible.

From down the valley came the sound of scattered shots and yells.  Dud swung his hat in glee.

“Good boys!  They’re comin’ in on the rear.  Hi yi yippy yi!”

Firing began again on the other side.  The Utes were caught between the rangers to the left and the soldiers to the right.  Bob could see them breaking through the willows toward the river.  It was an easy guess that their horses were bunched here and that they would be forced to cross the stream to escape.

Five minutes later Harshaw broke through the saplings to the pit.  “Either of you boys hurt?” he demanded anxiously.

“Not a scratch on either of us,” Dud reported.

The boss of the Slash Lazy D wrung their hands.  “By Godfrey!  I’m plumb pleased.  Couldn’t get it outa my head that they’d got you lads.  How’s Houck?”

“He’s right sick.  Doc had ought to look after him soon.  He’s had one mighty bad day of it.”

Houck was carried on a blanket to the riverbank, where camp was being made for the night.  The Utes had been routed.  It was estimated that ten or twelve of them had been killed, though the number could not be verified, as Indians always if possible carry away their dead.  For the present, at least, no further pursuit of them was feasible.

Dr. Tuckerman dressed the wounds of the Brown’s Park man and looked after the others who had been hurt.  All told, the whites had lost four killed.  Five were wounded more or less seriously.

The wagons had been left on the mesa three miles away.  Houck was taken here next day on a stretcher made of a blanket tied to willow poles.  The bodies of the dead were also removed.

Two days later the rangers reached Bear Cat.  They had left the soldiers to complete the task of rounding up the Utes and taking them back to the reservation.