lar, and he
held him as though he were a child.

[Illustration: The Struggle 059]

Malone stooped down towards the fire, and, opening the pan of his
pistol, examined the priming; then, slapping it down again, he stood
erect, "Barton," said he, in a tone of firm determination I heard him
use for the first time,--"Barton, it 's bad to provoke a man with the
halter round his neck. I know what 's before me well enough now. But
see, let him escape; give him two hours to get away, and here I 'll
surrender myself your prisoner, and follow you where you like."

"Break in the door, there, blast ye!" was the reply to this offer, as
Barton shouted to the soldiers at the top of his voice. Two of the young
men darted forward as he spoke, and threw themselves against it. "Fire
through it!" cried Barton, stamping with passion.

"You will have it, will you, then?" said Malone, as he ground his teeth
in anger; then raising his pistol, he sprang forward, and holding it
within a yard of Barton's face, shouted out, "There!"

The powder flashed in the lock, and quick as its own report. Barton
hurled the Frenchman round to protect him from the ball, but only in
time to receive the shot in his right arm as he held it uplifted. The
arm fell powerless to his side; while Malone, springing on him like a
tiger, grasped him in his powerful grip, and they both rolled upon the
ground in terrible conflict. The Frenchman stood for an instant like one
transfixed; then, bursting from the spot, dashed through the kitchen to
the small room I had slept in. One of the young men followed him. The
crash of glass and the sounds of breaking woodwork were heard among the
other noises; and at the same moment the door gave way in front, and the
soldiers with fixed bayonets entered at a charge.

"Fire on them I fire on them!" shouted Barton, as he lay struggling on
the ground; and a random volley rang through the cabin, filling it with
smoke.

A yell of anguish burst forth at the moment; and one of the women lay
stretched upon the hearth, her bosom bathed in blood. The scene was
now a terrible one; for although overpowered by numbers, the young men
rushed on the soldiers, and regardless of wounds, endeavored to wrest
their arms from them. The bayonets glanced through the blue smoke, and
shouts of rage and defiance rose up amid frightful screams of suffering
and woe. A bayonet stab in the side, received I know not how, sent
me half fainting into the little ro