“Now he knows exactly,” thought Dallas, “and I shall hear him turn and begin to lower himself down. We ought to wait till he is more than half through before we fire. Will Bel think of this?”
He drew a long breath, for there was a heavy, rustling sound above, as if the man on the roof was altering his position. Then there came a sharp scratch, for the greater part of a box of matches had been struck all at once. Then there was a brilliant flash of light, the momentary glimpse of a big hairy hand, from which the burning matches began to fall, while the interior of the dark hut was lit up, showing the dog, with eyes glistening and bared teeth, crouched to spring, and the two young men kneeling, each with his weapon raised.
But they did not fire, feeling that it would be madness to trust to hitting the unseen, for the hand was too small a target; and before they could make up their minds what to do next, two shots were fired from outside, and a cry rang out on the midnight air.
Chapter Thirty Four.
The striking of another match.
The long-silent dog burst out into a hoarse bark once more, as the two young men knelt there as if paralysed, and the tiny splints died out one by one where they had fallen amongst the wood ashes, while from the roof there was a horrible scrambling, struggling sound, hoarse cries, the crunching of the frozen snow, followed by the scraping sound as of some one sliding down the slope of the roof, and then a dull, heavy thud, a groan or two, and finally complete silence.
“He has it,” said Dallas hoarsely.
“Hush! Hark!” cried Abel.