Py cosh, he sure tried--witness the bullet holes which he had bored through the four sides of the shack; he besought Irish to count them; which Irish did gravely.

And what happened then?
Then?
Why, then the Happy Family had come; or at least all those who had been awake and riding the prairie had come pounding up out of the dark, their horses running like rabbits, their blood singing the song of battle.

They had grappled with certain of the enemy--Patsy broke open the door and saw tangles of struggling forms in the faint starlight.
The Happy Family were not the type of men who must settle every argument with a gun, remember.

Not while their hands might be used to fight with.
Patsy thought that they licked the nesters without much trouble.

He knew that the settlers ran, and that the Happy Family chased them clear across the line and then came back and let the shack down where it belonged upon the rock underpining.
"Und py cosh! Dey vould move my shack off'n my land!" he grunted ragefully as he lived over the memory.
Irish went to the door and looked out.