“Where is Chow Ching?”
“He all go way, too.”
“Then let us in, anyway,” went on Gilbert, impatiently. “Be quick about it, too.”
“No can come in. We alle right. We no makee Amelicans no trouble, not muchee,” went on the Celestial, and closed the little wooden shutter in Gilbert’s face.
“You won’t open, eh?” muttered the young lieutenant. “Come, Hunter, let us see what we can do.”
The dog now began to grow savage again, at which one of the citizens who had come along clubbed him over the head with his gun, silencing him forever. Then soldiers and citizens put their shoulders to the door, and it went down with a crash.
A yell in Chinese followed. “No clome in here, no shootee!” A scurry of footsteps came after in the inky darkness of the abode, and all was as silent as the grave.
A match was struck, and a lamp lit; and, hardly had this been done, when there came a shot from the rear of the dwelling, followed by a cry from Dan Casey. “Take that, ye haythin!” exclaimed the Irish regular. “Lieutenant, they are after tryin’ to git out av a hole in the cellar!”
Light in hand, Gilbert ran through the house. Another shot rang out; and a bullet hit the lamp, knocking it from his hand and scattering the oil in every direction. Gilbert’s arm caught fire, but the flame was quickly extinguished. Most of the oil flew upon a large rush curtain hanging between two rooms, and in a trice the curtain was blazing lively and filling the residence with smoke.
“We’ll have to get out of here,” cried Hunter, who was just behind Gilbert. “If we don’t, we’ll be burnt up like rats in a trap.”