"I reckon I can squirm over th' edge an' drop down that split," Johnny soliloquized, eying a ragged, sharp edge in the rock close at hand. "Don't know where it goes to, or how far down, but it's cool, that's shore."

He wriggled over to it, flattened as much as possible, and looked over the edge, seeing a four-inch ledge ten feet below him. From the ledge it was ten feet more to the bottom, but the ledge was what interested him.

"Shore I can—just land on that shelf, hug th' wall an' they can't touch me," he grinned, slipping over and hanging for an instant until he stopped swinging. The rock bulged out between him and the ledge, but he did not give that any thought. Letting go he dropped down the face of the rock, shot out along the bulge and over his cherished ledge, and landed with a grunt on a mass of sand and debris twenty feet below. As he pitched forward to his hands he heard the metallic warning of a rattlesnake and all his fears of being shot were knocked out of his head by the sound. When he landed from his jump he was on the wrong side of the crevice and among hot lead. Ducking and dodging he worked back to the right side and then blew off the offending rattler's head with his Colt. Other rattlers now became prominent and Johnny, realizing that he was an unwelcome guest in a rattlesnake den, made good use of his eyes and Colt as he edged towards the mouth of the crevice. Behind him were rattlers; before him, rustlers who could and would shoot. To say that he was disgusted is to put it mildly.

"Cussed joint!" he grunted. "This is a measly place for me. If I stay I get bit to death; if I leave I get shot. Wonder if I can get to that ledge—ugh!" he cried as the tip of a rattler's tail hung down from it for an instant. "Come on! Bring 'em all out! Trot out th' tarantulas, copper heads, an' Gilas! Th' more th' merrier! Blasted snake hang-out!"

He glanced about him rapidly, apprehensively, and shivered. "No more of this for Little Johnny! I'll chance th' sharp-shooters," he yelled, and dashed out and around the pile so quickly as to be unhit. But he was not hit for another reason, also. Skinny Thompson and Pete Wilson, having grown restless, were encircling the mesa by keeping inside the chaparral and came opposite the pinnacle about the time Johnny discovered his reptilian neighbors. Hearing the noise they both stopped and threw their rifles to their shoulders. Here was a fine opportunity to lessen the numbers of the enemy, for the rustlers, careless for the moment, were peering over their breastwork to see what all the noise was about, not dreaming that two pairs of eyes three hundred yards away were calculating the range. Two puffs of smoke burst from the chaparral and the rustlers ducked out of sight, one of them hard hit. At that moment Johnny made his dash and caused smiles to flit across the faces of his friends.