But now it was patent to him that they were getting to the last of their defence, though still he felt in nowise ready to give up.
“See that, uncle?” he panted.
“Yes, my boy; they’re going to make our fall warm for us.”
“But the water-buckets!”
“No good, my lad, unless they can be well applied, and our coolies are helpless to do anything here.”
“Fire!” cried Blunt hoarsely.
“Yes, fire,” said Uncle Jeff; “but don’t slacken your efforts, man. Keep at it, hard; the wretches may get sick after all. If not, I hope they will be caught in their own trap.”
“But us—your nephew—escape?”
“I don’t see how,” said Uncle Jeff.—“Do you think you could make a jump from one of the windows and run for it out into one of the rice-fields and hide, Stan?”
“Are you all coming too, uncle?” said the lad.