There won't be ary thing under you t' dance on, nuther." The old shepherd was replying kindly, when his speech was interrupted by a pistol shot, and a command from the leader, at which the entire gang charged toward the cabin, firing as they came, and making the little valley hideous with their drunken oaths and yells.
From his window, Young Matt coolly emptied his revolver, but even as the crowd faltered, there came from their leader another volley of oaths.

"Go on, go on," yelled Wash.

"Their guns are empty, now.
Fetch 'em out 'fore they can load again." With an answering yell, the others responded.

Carrying a small log they made for the cabin at full speed.

One crashing blow--the door flew from its hinges, and the opening was filled with the drunken, sweating, swearing crew.