“Be careful and make every shot tell,” said Gordon, as it was rapidly growing dark; then backing to the inner door as he reloaded, he spoke for a few seconds to Don.
“We shall beat them off, sir,” said Don cheerily.
“Yes, I hope so, my lad,” said the settler calmly. “You see you are of great use.”
“No, sir; it’s all my fault,” replied Don.
“Mas’ Don,” whispered Jem, as Don returned, “look out of the window; mind the spears; then tell me what you see.”
“Fire!” said Don after a momentary examination.
He was quite right. A fire had been lit in the forest at the back, and ten minutes after, as Mike Bannock’s voice could be heard cheering them, the Maoris came on, hurling burning branches on to the roof of the little log-house.
For a few minutes there was no result. Then there arose a yell, for the roof had caught, the resinous pine burned strongly, the smoke began to curl in between the rafters, and the women were helped down.
To extinguish the flames was impossible, and would even have been as vain a task had they been outside ready with water.
“How long will she last before she comes down?” said one of the settlers.