that we've got one big advantage. The little devils are
superstitious about fighting at night, and even Blake can't force them
into it. Blake is the man I was after when I ran across Armin and his
people. GAD!"

There was an unpleasant snap in his voice as he peered through the
gun-hole again. Philip looked across the room to Celie and her father
as he divided the cartridges. They were both listening, yet he knew
they did not understand what he and Olaf were saying. He dropped a half
of the cartridges into the right hand pocket of the Swede's service
coat, and advanced then toward Armin with both his hands held out in
greeting. Even in that tense moment he saw the sudden flash of pleasure
in Celie's eyes. Her lips trembled, and she spoke softly and swiftly to
her father, looking at Philip. Armin advanced a step, and their hands
met. At first Philip had taken him for an old man. Hair and beard were
white, his shoulders were bent, his hands were long and thin. But his
eyes, sunken deep in their sockets, had not aged with the rest of him.
They were filled with the piercing scrutiny of a hawk's as they looked
into his own, measuring him in that moment so far as man can measure
man. Then he spoke, and it was the light in Celie's eyes, her parted
lips, and the flush that came swiftly into her face that gave him an
understanding of what Armin was saying.

From the end of the cabin Olaf's voice broke in. With it came the
metallic working of his rifle as he filled the chamber with cartridges.
He spoke first to Celie and Armin in their own language, then to Philip.

"It's a pretty safe gamble we'd better get ready for them," he said.
"They'll soon begin. Did you split even on the cartridges?"

"Seventeen apiece."

Philip examined his rifle, and looked through the gun-crevice toward
the forest. He heard Olaf tugging at the dogs as he tied them to the
bunk posts; he heard Armin say something in a strained voice, and the
Swede's unintelligible reply, followed by a quick, low-voiced
interrogation from Celie. In the same moment his heart gave a sudden
jump. In the fringe of the forest he saw a long, thin line of moving
figures--ADVANCING. He did not call out a warning instantly. For a
space in which he might have taken a long breath or two his eyes and
brain were centered on the moving figures and the significance of their
drawn-out formation. Like a camera-flash his eyes ran over the
battleground. Half way between the cabin and