confidently until within twenty yards
of the tower, then there was the sharp crack of a pistol, and one of
them fell forward on his face, the other hesitated and stood irresolute,
then, summoning up courage, he sprang forward.
As he did so another shot flashed out, and he, too, fell prostrate, the
brand hissing and spluttering in the snow a few feet from the pile of
brushwood. A loud yell of rage and disappointment arose on the night
air, showing how large was the number of peasants who were watching the
operations. Some time elapsed before any further move was made on the
part of the assailants, then some twenty points of light were seen
approaching.
"Donald," Malcolm said to the soldier, "go up to the top of the tower
with your comrades. They are sure to light the pile this time, but if
it is only fired in one place you may possibly dash out the light with a
stone."
The lights rapidly approached, but when the bearers came within forty
yards they stopped. They were a wild group, as, with their unkempt
hair and beards, and their rough attire, they stood holding the lighted
brands above their heads. A very tall and powerful man stood at their
head.
"Come on," he said, "why do you hesitate? Let us finish with them." And
he rushed forward.
Malcolm had his pistol lying on the sill of the loophole covering
him, and when the peasant had run ten paces he fired, and the man fell
headlong. The others stopped, and a second shot took effect among them.
With a yell of terror they hurled the brands towards the pile and fled.
Most of the brands fell short, others missed their aim, but from his
loophole Malcolm saw that one had fallen on to the outside faggot of the
pile.
Almost instantly a heavy stone fell in the snow close by, another,
and another. Malcolm stood with his eyes fixed on the brand. The twigs
against which it leaned were catching, and the flames began to shoot up.
Higher and higher they rose, and a shout of triumph from the peasants
told how keenly they were also watching. Still the heavy stones
continued to fall. The flames rose higher, and half the faggot was now
alight. Another minute and the fire would communicate with the pile.
Then there was a crash. A shower of sparks leapt up as the faggot,
struck by one of the heavy stones, was dashed from its place and lay
blazing twenty feet distant from the pile. There it burnt itself out,
and for a time the tower was safe.
For an hour the defenders watched
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