"Hell! we kin giv' 'em the same dose a third time."
"I don't expect that, Sims," I returned. "But those other fellows ought to be up any minute now. Anyway we'll have a breathing spell, for the Johnnies must have had enough to last them a few minutes. How is the ammunition?"
"'Bout twenty rounds apiece left."
"Then get to work, men; load up and strengthen every weak spot. We'll put up the best show we can. What did you want, Foster?"
The man addressed, a slim, awkward fellow, his spindle legs conspicuous under the short cavalry jacket, jerked off his cap in embarrassment.
"Why nuthin' much, sir," he stammered. "I ain't no objections to goin' on with the fightin', only if we're so sartain to catch hell it don't seem exactly right fer us to keep that thar young gal here in the house. She ain't no combatant, sir, an' dern me if I don't think she ought to be got outside first."
"Girl! What girl?" I cried, believing I must have misunderstood. "What is it you are trying to say, man?"
The soldier jerked his thumb back over his shoulder.
"The one in thar behind the stairs," he explained slowly. "Tom Ragan he made her go thar when the rumpus begun, an' then Tom he got killed. Ain't that the way of it, Talbot?"
"Sure," chimed in the other. "It is the same one that was in the parlor last night, sir. She don't seem scared, ner nuthin' like that, only Ragan told her she'd got to stay thar. I heard 'em talkin', an' she said she wanted you."