are lying full length upon the
floor. The pain in Drummond's battered head has become intense: it is
almost maddening. Wing is moaning and unconscious. Walsh is incoherent
and raving. All are panting and well-nigh exhausted. The front of the
cave is like an oven. Overcome by the heat, one or two of the men are
edging towards the inner cave, but Drummond orders them back. To the
very last the lives of those fair girls must be protected and
cherished. In silence, almost in desperation, the men obey, and lie
down again, face downward, their heads at the rear wall of the cave.

And then Costigan comes crawling to the lieutenant's side,--

"Have you heard any more logs thrown down lately, sir?"

"No, corporal. I have heard nothing."

"They were yellin' and shootin' out there in the gulch half an hour
ago. Have ye heard no more of it, sir?"

"No; no sound but the flames."

"Glory be to God, thin! D'ye know what it manes, sir?"

"I know what I hope," is Drummond's faint answer. "Our fellows are
close at hand, for the Indians are clearing out."

"Close at hand, is it?" cries Costigan, in wild excitement, leaping to
his feet. "Listen, sir! Listen, all of ye's! D'ye hear that?--and
that? And _there_ now! Oh, Holy Mother of God! isn't that music?
Thim's the thrumpets of 'K' throop!"

Ay. Out along the crests of the winding canon the rifles are ringing
again. The cheers of troopers, bounding like goats up the rocky sides,
are answered by clatter of hoof and snort of excited steeds in the
rocky depths below. "Here we are, lads! Dismount! Lively now!" a
well-known voice is ordering, and Costigan fairly screams in ecstasy
of joy, "Tear away the fire, captain, an' then we'll heave over the
rocks."

Stalwart forms, brawny arms, are already at the work. The
wagon-tongues are prying under the heavy, hissing, sputtering logs.
Daring hands scatter the embers. Buckets of water are dashed over the
live coals. "Up wid ye now, boys!" shouts Costigan. "Heave over thim
rocks!" Down with a crash goes the barricade. A cloud of steam rushes
into the cave. A dozen sturdy troopers come leaping in, lifting from
the ground the helpless and bearing them to the blessed coolness of
the outer air, and the last thing Jim Drummond sees--ere he swoons
away--is the pale, senseless face of little Ruth close to his at the
water's brink; her father, with Fanny clinging about his neck,
kneeling by her side, his eyes uplifted in thanks to the God who eve