“That’s all right, sir,” said Jem; “he understands.”
“Now then, quick! Make everything fast. We can keep them out so long as they don’t try fire. And look here, I hate bloodshed, neighbours, but those convict scoundrels have raised these poor savages up against us for the sake of plunder. Recollect, we are fighting for our homes—to defend the women.”
A low, angry murmur arose as the guns were quickly examined, ammunition placed ready, and the rough, strong door barricaded with boxes and tubs, the women being sent up a rough ladder through a trap-door to huddle together in the roof, where they would be in safety.
“So long as they don’t set us afire, Mas’ Don,” whispered Jem.
“What’s that?” said Gordon sharply.
“Jem fears fire,” said Don.
“So do I, my lad, so we must keep them at a distance; and if they do fire us run all together to the next house, and defend that.”
Fortunately for the defenders of the place there were but three windows, and they were small, and made good loop-holes from which to fire when the enemy came on. The settlers defended the front of the house, and Don, Jem and Ngati were sent to the back, greatly to Jem’s disappointment.
“We sha’n’t see any of the fun, Mas’ Don,” he whispered, and then remained silent, for a shout arose, and they recognised the voice as that of Mike Bannock.
“Now then you,” he shouted, “open the door, and give in quietly. If you do, you sha’n’t be hurt. If you make a fight of it, no one will be left alive.”