were blacker with the stuff than
Frank's ever were from his printing press.

Frank was firing less and less often. He leaned against the log wall,
wiping his arm across his forehead.

"We've kept pouring lead into the courtyard. That's driven them under
cover. But they broke holes in the corner tower walls, and they're
shooting back at us from there." An Indian yelp caught his attention,
and he peered out again.

"Now, would you look at that!" he said. Nicole put her head next to his
at the rifle port.

A blizzard in the trading post courtyard. Flecks of white filled the air
between the inn and the blockhouse. She saw brown arms shaking slashed
mattresses and pillows out the windows. Feathers floated up to the
gunport. More feathers slowly drifted down to dot the fresh June grass
with white. She heard yells and laughter from the inn.

_They'd cut me open as soon as they'd cut open a pillow, and think that
was just as funny._

"They're getting drunk," Frank said. "On all the liquor in Raoul's
tavern. Must be looting the town too."

_They'll burn our home. Everything will be gone, the beds and the
dishes, the mirrors, the bureaus, the spinning wheel, the clock, the
plates and silverware, our clothes, our books and old letters,
children's toys, the spices, the cradle I rocked all our babies in. The
machines and carpentry tools, and, oh, please, God, not Frank's printing
press!_

_Stop it, Nicole. You're blessed! Blessed that they attacked at dawn
when all the children were in the house and not scattered all over the
countryside, and now they're safely in here. Blessed that your husband
is standing here beside you and not dead on the palisade parapet like
Burke Russell._

But even as she thought of things to be thankful for, she remembered
what might happen to them in the next few hours.

An Indian charged out of the front door of the inn. He was waving a
curving Navy cutlass. He ran at the blockhouse, screaming. His steps
wavered, though, and Nicole guessed he must be full of whiskey.

Still she was terrified. What if everyone missed him and he somehow got
in and others followed?

"Look out," Frank said, and gently nudged her away from the port. He
pushed his rifle out and fired.

"I hit him, but he isn't falling."

Getting back into the routine, Nicole took Frank's rifle and loaded it.
Rifles were booming all along the front of the blockhouse as men tried
to stop the Indian with the cutlass. Frank's sec