But no one inside stirred until, after quite ten minutes—which seemed to Stan like sixty—the cracking and breaking of wood was heard again.
Then Uncle Jeff turned to his brother and whispered:
“Hold your hand. I’ll try what a shot by way of warning will do. If we fire and wound the wretches they will be furious, and we are very weak.”
Stanley’s father whispered back two words which did not in the least accord with the position of the listeners, for he said:
“Very well.”
The next moment Stan saw a bright flash of light cut the darkness, showing by its diagonal direction that the pistol had been fired towards the ceiling.
The report sounded loud, and was followed once more by perfect silence.
The lad’s heart gave a leap, and a feeling of profound relief and satisfaction came over him.
“Frightened them away!” he said to himself; and the horrible thoughts which had attacked him like a nightmare, of the atrocities of which the marauding Chinese were reported to have been guilty, were dying slowly away, when the lad’s spirits sank again to zero, and he felt as cold, for all at once a savage burst of yells arose, followed by a fierce attack upon the door. All attempt at concealment was now at an end, and the attempt became perfectly open.
“Won’t this bring help, father?” said Stan in a voice that sounded rather choking.