"Miss Douglas," he said, "will you kindly go into the
other room for a minute! They have cut down one of the
large posts in the shed and are going to make a
battering-ram of it so as to smash in the door. Come
this way, all of you. Two on either side. That is right.
Fire into them as they charge!"

CHAPTER IV

HARD PRESSED

The half-breeds and Indians, keen and determined as they
were to effect an entrance to the house at any costs,
were not without considerable foresight and strategy.
But their feint failed, and when they did make a rush
with their ram two or three of them were picked off. The
survivors dropped the ram, and made a dash across the
open for the stable.

Pasmore telling the others to remain at their loopholes,
went to a room at the end of the long passage, Dorothy
following him.

The rebels must have applied a match to some of the
inflammable matter, for in another instant the growing,
hissing roar of fire was audible.

"It will spread to the house in a few minutes more,"
remarked the sergeant, quietly, "and I'm afraid that will
be the end of it."

But he had already seized an axe and was opening the
door.

"Shut the door after me and go to your father," he
exclaimed. "I'll cut down the slabs that connect it with
the house. Child-of-Light may come up yet. Good-bye--in
case of accidents."

She caught him by the arm and looked into his face.

"You can't do that--you must _not_ do that! You are sure
to be shot down."

"And I may be shot if I don't." Forcibly, but with what
gentleness the action permitted, he disengaged her firm
white hand.

"You can't use an axe with that arm," she pleaded, all
her old reserve vanishing.

"I can at a pinch," he replied. "It is good of you to
trouble about me."

He slipped out and pulled the door behind him. The look
he had seen in her eyes had come as a revelation and
given him courage.

She stood for a moment speechless and motionless, with
a strained, set expression on her face. It was old Rory
who aroused her to the gravity of the situation. He came
running along the passage.

"Come hyar, honey, and into the cellar wid ye," he cried.
"There's more of the inimy comin' along the trail, but
there's still a chanct. Nivir say die, sez I."

As if roused from some horrible dream her feverish energy
and readiness of resource returned to her.

"Come into the next room," she cried to Rory; "we can
see the oil-house from the window. He is ou