_Ping, ping, ping, zip--phut--cr-runck!_ and the bullets
played a very devil's tattoo upon the walls and windows.
The enemy were still five to one, and if they could only
succeed in rushing in and breaking down the doors, victory
would be in their hands. But to do that meant death to
so many.

Another half-hour, and the firing still continued, though
in a more desultory fashion. It was a strange waiting
game, and a grim one, that was being played. The defenders
had shifted their positions to guard against surprise.
Douglas had in vain begged his daughter to leave the room
and join the women in an inner apartment, but she had
pleaded so hard with him that he allowed her to remain.

As for the sergeant, he was outwardly, at least, his old
self. He was silent and watchful, showing neither concern
nor elation. He moved from one position to another, and
never pulled the trigger of his Winchester without making
sure of something. With the help of Douglas he had pulled
on his fur coat again, as the fire was going out, and he
was beginning to feel the cold in his wound.

"I can't make out why Child-of-Light hasn't come up with
his men," he said at length, "but, anyhow, he is sure to
turn up--"

He paused, listening. Then all in the room heard the
_chip-chop_ of an axe as it steadily cut its way through