“I couldn’t; but I wish it was daylight and I could get a good aim at one of them. I say, they’ll riddle that door.”
“Wait a bit,” whispered Dallas, with a curious little laugh, “and we’ll answer their riddle.”
The firing went on persistently, but the dog barked no more—only gave vent from time to time to a low growl, while the listeners could tell from the sound that he was applying an animal’s natural remedy to his wound by licking it diligently.
And the firing went on as if the enemy were searching every part of the hut with their bullets.
“Dal,” whispered Abel suddenly, “don’t be startled.”
“You’re not going to be such an idiot as to open the door to the fire, are you?”
“No; but it would not be idiotic,” said Abel quietly; “for I feel as if I could hit one of them by seeing the flash of his piece.”
“What are you going to do, then?—let the dog out?”
“No, not now he is wounded. I wish we had set him free, though, at the first—he’d have startled the wretches!”
“They’d have done for him with their bowies,” said Dallas. “What am I not to be startled at? Ah–h–ah! You brutes! Lie right down, Bel! They’re firing at the wall now.”