our whirling gun-barrels,
falling back step by step as we fought. At last I felt the bottom stairs
with my foot, and heard a voice shout,

"Come up, sir! We'll hold 'em now!"

Then I was above the heads of the mob, gripping the rail, and sobbing for
breath. There followed a moment's wait, an instant of hesitancy. I began
to see and feel once more. Below us the hall was jammed with men, so
closely pressed together as to be almost helpless. Blood streamed from a
cut in my forehead, nearly blinding me, but I wiped it away, and took one
glance at their angry upturned faces, and gained a glimpse of my own men.
There were but six of us, and one of these lay helpless propped against
the wall. Tom and I stood alone, his face blackened by powder, his shirt
ripped into rags; the other three were above, pistols in hand.

"Are they loaded?" I gasped.

"Yes, sir."

"Stand ready then, but look out for above; there was a guard up
there--Tom."

He turned his face slightly.

"Move back a step or two more; we've got to hold them."

"All right, sir."

I felt weak from loss of blood, my head reeling, and had to hold to the
rail. Below us, growling like wild beasts, but seemingly leaderless, the
mob crushed forward to the foot of the stairs. Suddenly I saw Grant, and
the sight of him gave me new life.

"You black-faced hound," I called down angrily. "You've kept yourself
safe so far. Now come on."

He snarled some answer, what, I know not. There was an empty pistol in my
belt, and I flung it at him with all the force of my arm. He dodged, the
weapon striking the man behind. With a howl of rage the fellows leaped
toward us, bearing Grant on the crest of the wave. The pistols of the
Dragoons cracked; three fell, blocking the stairs with their bodies. We
had room now in which to swing our iron bars, and we battered them like
demons. I lost sight of Grant, the red drip of blood over my eyes making
all before me a mist. I only knew enough to strike. Yet fight as we could
there was no holding them. We were forced to give way. Guns began to spit
fire. I saw the wounded Dragoon dragged down under the feet of the mob;
hands gripped my legs, and I kicked at the faces in my effort to tear
loose. Tom reeled against the wall, his arm shattered by a blow, and one
of the men above came tumbling over me, shot dead. The fall of him
cleared the stairs an instant; then the rail broke, and several toppled
over with it. I stumbled back almost to