There followed a short, sharp interval of uncertainty, in which the tide of affairs quivered on a hair. But Dexter was still advancing, determined, formidable.
The little, ferret-eyed Croix stood nearest to him, and Croix was the first to weaken. His glance fell before the officer's eyes, his hand opened, and his rifle clattered to the floor.
"You, 'Phonse!" thundered Dexter. Doucet hesitated, wavered, and then he too dropped his weapon.
There remained the red-bearded man, and he was left alone facing the officer. He, perhaps, was made of sterner stuff than his two companions, but he could not help knowing that to fight back now spelled certain death, and after a short conflict of glances, he too threw down his gun.
"Into the corner behind the fireplace—all of you!" Dexter ordered. "Crill and Preston, you also!" He sidled over towards the front wall, and herded the men away from the door. Slowly they backed before the leveled revolver, and in two or three seconds he had driven them into the corner, where they huddled together like sheep.
The corporal ducked his head to his shoulder with a quick, nervous movement to wipe the moisture from his forehead. Then he looked up again, and laughed with a queer catch in his voice. "You're to stay where you are with your hands up," he announced. "I'll call you forward by name, one at a time, and feel your clothes for side arms—"
He was interrupted by a sobbing sound from the direction of the bunk, and as he half turned to look, he saw Alison lift herself to her feet and stumble forward into the lantern light. "Archie!" she cried in a piteous voice. "Forgive me—oh, Archie—I did it for—I couldn't help it!"
She swung around to face Dexter, her tearful gaze meeting his. "I have given my brother's life for yours, David," she said in a stricken whisper. Then she tottered across to the table, buried her head in her arms, and broke down in convulsive sobbing.
Dexter took a step forward and stood over her for a moment with awed and wondering eyes. His hand strayed towards her shoulder but he checked the movement, shook his head, and turned slowly away. Once more he faced the men in the corner of the room.
"You first, Doucet!" he commanded brusquely. "Come forward!" He beckoned with the muzzle of his revolver, but before the man had a chance to obey, the front door flung open with a crash and booted feet clumped into the cabin entrance.