At that moment there was a burst of sobs; then it seemed as if all emotion was at end, and the little group gathered together, feeling that all was over, for already the smoke was forcing its way in by crack and chink, a feeling of difficulty of breathing was rapidly coming on, and the yelling of the blacks was growing strange and unreal, when Rifle sprang up from his knees.
“Yes, yes,” he shouted; and again with all his might, “yes!”
For there was a wild shout close at hand.
“Marmi! Marmi!”
The yelling ceased, and all now started to their feet, for there was the beating of hoofs, and in rapid succession shot after shot, with good old English shouts of rage, as a party of mounted men galloped by, tearing on in full pursuit of the fleeing enemy.
“Quick!” roared the captain. “Guns, boys, quick!”
As he spoke he dashed to the front, tore down bar and board, and banged the door back.
A burst of flame rushed in, but the brushwood touching the woodwork was being torn away, and through the flames they saw a fierce black face and two bare arms tossing the burning wood aside.
“Marmi! Marmi! Rifle—’Temus! Coo-ee, coo-ee!”
“Coo-ee!” yelled Rifle; and he tried to cry again, but the word stuck in his throat as he forced his way out over the burning twigs, his father next.