Lindbohm was in his element.
"There was," he understood, "no way for the enemy to get in from the land side except through the pass. They might approach with difficulty from the seashore, but there was only one place where they could land. Men were watching that, and a smoke by day or a fire by night would warn the villagers. Very good. Fifty men might defend this pass against two hundred and fifty, but they must lose no men and must make every shot count. How much ammunition had they?"
"Not much. Only their belts full, and possibly as much again, curses on the English!"
"Very well. We must use it the more carefully. We must not get excited. Kostakes Effendi cannot possibly reach the ravine before nightfall—can he get through without a guide?"
"No," replied the demarch, "impossible."
Panayota spoke. She said only two words, and she said them quietly, though distinctly, but they fell like a thunderclap.
"Peter Ampates!"
This was the name of the cowardly shepherd whom Lindbohm had driven from the town.
"Is there any way to build fires so as to light up narrow places in the ravine?"
There were two or three such places where bonfires could be located that would make the pass as light as day. People standing behind the rocks in positions of comparative safety could easily feed the flames by tossing wood into them.