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 out there pulling
down the stockade and we can keep them back from him.
Quick, Rory!"

Like one possessed she made for the first door on the
left of the passage.

Along the trail came the new lot of half-breeds and
Indians to the assistance of their fellows, or, perhaps
it would be more correct to say, to see to it that they
did not miss their full share of the plunder. Roused to
fresh efforts by the sight of the others, those on the
spot fairly riddled the doors and windows of the house.
The bullets were whizzing into the kitchen in every
direction, splintering the furniture and sending the
plaster flying from the walls until the room was filled
with a fine, blinding, choking dust. It was impossible
to hold out much longer. The final rush was sure to come
in a very few minutes--and all would be over.

Pasmore had cut off the house from the burning shed by
hewing down the connecting wall, while Dorothy Douglas
and Rory, by firing from a side window, had kept the
enemy from approaching; After what seemed an age, Pasmore
rejoined them.

There was a pause in the firing, then a hoarse murmur of