"All right, sergeant. Close your door and go up and try it," I
replied. "A redskin with a broken leg can do us as little injury as
one with a broken head."

The words were hardly spoken and the sergeant had barely reached the
fireplace, when, as if in anticipation of this movement, two figures
leaped over the end of the log nearest the perpendicular rock, ran to
the corner formed by the cabin and the wall, and by the aid of the
dovetailed ends of the logs clambered quickly to the roof. I sent a
shot at them, but it had no effect.

No sooner had they reached the roof than they threw the flaming brands
and coal of our bonfire down the chimney, where they broke into
fragments and rolled over the floor, setting fire to the scattered
straw and plumes.

Busy putting stops into the windows, and fastening them and the doors,
we could do nothing to extinguish the fire before it got well under
way.

A blanket was thrown over the top of the chimney to prevent a draught,
and soon the whole interior was thick with stifling smoke.

The horses plunged frantically, sending the fire in every direction.
Our eyes began to smart painfully, and we felt ourselves suffocating
and choking in the thick and poisonous atmosphere.

To remain in the house was to be burned alive; to leave it was to
perish, perhaps, in a still more horrible way. Just as I was on the
brink of despair, the sergeant gasped rather than spoke: