Then he slew his head around until he gained the bead he wished.
Five minutes passed before he caught sight of his man and then he fired.
Jerking out the empty shell he smiled and called out to his friend: "One." Hopalong grinned and went off to tell Buck to put all the men in trees.
Night came on and still the firing continued.

Then an explosion shook the woods.

The storehouse had blown up and a sky full of burning timber fell on the cabins and soon three were half consumed, their occupants dropping as they gained the open air.

One hundred paces makes fine pot-shooting, as Deacon Rankin discovered when evacuation was the choice necessary to avoid cremation.

He never moved after he touched the ground and Red called out: "Two," not knowing that his companion had departed.
The morning of the next day found a wearied and hopeless garrison, and shortly before noon a soiled white shirt was flung from a window in the nearest cabin.