“Right,” he said.
“Crawl to your own side. I’ll take this. The bullets will not come through the logs of the wall.”
“I’m not so sure,” said Abel softly; but he obeyed his cousin’s order, just as a couple more shots were fired through.
The next moment Dallas was stamping and kicking out the fire, with the result that the interior of the hut grew lighter.
“Don’t, don’t do that, Dal,” whispered Abel. “You’re right in the line of fire, too.”
As a proof that their position was being made more precarious a couple more shots were fired, the bullets buzzing across the interior.
“Must,” was the reply. “There, the ashes will soon grow faint;” and in a few minutes the place was nearly black; but at the same time it was full of strangling wood-smoke which rose slowly towards the opening in the roof which formed their chimney.
Meanwhile shot after shot was fired through the door, and at every dull thud or tearing of the stout woodwork, the dog dashed about, snarling and barking furiously.
“Dal! Dal!” cried Abel passionately; “are we to stop here doing nothing?”
“Yes; we are not going to shoot at random. Wait a bit, and our time will come. Have you plenty of cartridges handy?”