e to, Chet." And Chet Bullard dropped his own useless
pistol to the ground while he slipped the other into its holster on the
belt that bound his ragged clothes about him, but he said nothing. He
was facing a situation where words were hardly adequate to express the
surging emotion within.

* * * * *

Diane had returned when he addressed Walt casually. "Wonder why the
beggars didn't attack again," he pondered. "Why has Schwartzmann waited;
why hasn't he or one of his men crept up in the grass for a shot at us?
He's got some deviltry brewing."

"Waiting for night," hazarded Walt. He looked up to see Kreiss who had
joined them.

"If Towahg could tend the fire," suggested the scientist, "I could fire
my little catapult with one hand. I think I could do some damage." But
Chet shook his head and answered gently:

"I'm afraid Towahg's the better man to-night, Kreiss. You can help best
by giving us light. That's the province of science, you know," he added,
and grinned up at the anxious man.

Each moment of this companionship meant much to Chet. It was the last
conference, he knew. They would be swamped, overwhelmed, and then--only
the pistol with its six shells was left. But he drew his thoughts back
to the peaceful quiet of the present moment, though the hush was ominous
with the threat of the approaching storm and of the other assault that
must come in the storm's concealing darkness. He looked at Diane and
Walt--comrades true and tender. The leaping flames from the rocks above
made flickering shadows on their upturned faces.

* * * * *

The moment ended. A growl from where Towahg was on guard brought them
scrambling to their feet. "Gr-r-ranga!" Towahg was warning. "Granga
come!"

They fired from their platforms as before, then raced for the rocks and
the elevation they afforded, for the black bodies had reached the
stockade quickly in the half light. But they came again from one
point--the farthest curve of the U-shaped fence this time--and though a
score of black animal faces showed staring eyes and snarling fangs where
heavy bodies were drawn up on the barricade, no one of them reached the
inside.

"We're holding them!" Chet was shouting. But the easy victory was too
good to believe; he knew there were more to come; this force of some
thirty or forty was not all that Schwartzmann could throw into the
fight. And Schwartzmann, himself! Chet had seen