his hands. He had no fear that she might fall him, but for the first
time in all his life he questioned his own courage.




CHAPTER III

BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH

The remainder of that day, as well as much of the gloomy night
following, composed a silent, lingering horror. The fierce pangs of
hunger no longer gnawed, but a dull apathy now held the helpless
defenders. One of the wounded died, a mere lad, sobbing pitifully for
his mother; an infantryman, peering forth from his covert, had been
shot in the face, and his scream echoed among the rocks in multiplied
accents of agony; while Wyman lay tossing and moaning, mercifully
unconscious. The others rested in their places, scarcely venturing to
stir a limb, their roving, wolfish eyes the only visible evidence of
remaining life, every hope vanished, yet each man clinging to his
assigned post of duty in desperation. There was but little firing--the
defenders nursing their slender stock, the savages biding their time.
When night shut down the latter became bolder, and taunted cruelly
those destined to become so soon their hapless victims. Twice the
maddened men fired recklessly at those dancing devils, and one pitched
forward, emitting a howl of pain that caused his comrades to cower once
again behind their covers. One and all these frontiersmen recognized
the inevitable--before dawn the end must come. No useless words were
spoken; the men merely clinched their teeth and waited.