"You sit right down, my dear," he said kindly. "Just get right out of line with this window. I want to see this out. Say, hark! They're hitting it up good, eh?"
His eyes were alight with the excitement of battle, and Hazel, watching him, with fear carefully expressed in her eyes, could not help but admire the spirit of her lover's father, and more than ever regret the part she was forced to play.
She withdrew obediently as the sounds of battle waxed and the cries of the combatants made the still night hideous. The firing had become almost incessant, and the bullets seemed to hail upon the building from every direction. Then, too, the galloping horses added to the tumult, and it was pretty obvious the defenders were charging their opponents.
"There seems to be about two to one attacking," said the millionaire over his shoulder presently.
As he turned he surveyed with pity the strong look of terror the girl had contrived. He never once looked in the detested Chinaman's direction. In his heart he would not have regretted a chance shot disturbing those yellow, immobile features.
Then, turning back again quickly—
"I wonder!"
Now that the battle seemed to be at its height, and whilst awaiting its issue, he had time for conjecture. What was the meaning of it? And who were the attacking party? Was Slosson at its head? Had Harker sent up and was this a sheriff's posse? Both seemed possible. Yet neither, somehow, convinced him. Whoever were attacking, it was pretty certain in his mind that his release was the object.
But the moment passed, and he became absorbed once more in the battle itself. It seemed miraculous to his twentieth-century ideas that such a condition of things could prevail. Why, it was like the old romantic days of the hard drinking, hard swearing "bad men," and a sort of boyish delight in the excitement of it all swept through his veins. He had no time or thought for the part the now terror-stricken girl had played in his captivity. All he felt was a large-hearted, chivalrous regret for her present condition, of which no doubt remained in his mind.
A rush of horsemen charged up to the building. The watching man saw their outline distinctly. There seemed to him at least eight or ten. He saw another crowd, smaller numerically, charge at them, and then the revolvers spat out their vicious flashes of ruddy fire. The crowd dispersed and gathered again. Another fusillade. Then something seemed to happen. The whole crowd swept away in the darkness, and the sounds of shooting and the cries of men died away into the distance.