"There seems to be nothing for them to do but to remove the stone.
Keep a sharp eye on the log, sergeant!"

I had hardly spoken when a sudden discharge of rifles ran irregularly
along the length of the log, and under cover of the fire and smoke a
stalwart warrior leaped over, raised the stone, and had borne it
nearly to the top, when Sergeant Cunningham's rifle spoke sharply.

The stone dropped on our side; the Indian fell forward, with his arms
extended towards his friends, who pulled him over the log, and he was
screened from our sight. The volley of the Navajos did us no harm.

Corporal Frank replenished the fire on our roof from time to time, and
our vigilant watch went on. At last the sergeant, who still stood at
the open door, exclaimed, "Lieutenant, the stone is moving! It's
dropping into the ground!"

"It's gone, and here comes our fate," I said. "They must have dug
under the log with their knives and sunk the stone."

"Yes, sir, and they're safe to reach the cabin door and roast us out."

"If there were two or three more stones in the way, sergeant, the
delay they would cause might serve us until help comes."

"I'll run out there with one, Mr. Duncan," said Frank.

"No, laddie," replied the sergeant, "that's a duty for me. I'll drop a
couple there in a minute."