The cry of "Here the Injuns come!" broke in on them again.
David Cooper gave Elysée brief instructions on rationing water, and the old man limped downstairs as the firing began again.
Nicole, loading and reloading Frank's rifles with numb arms and mind, heard firing from all around her. The Indians were coming from every direction. Arrows and an occasional bullet whistled in through the ports, but no one was hit. Smoke drifted through the second story of the blockhouse, making her eyes water.
The Indians withdrew again. As the firing died down, Nicole was thankful to see that the powder smoke that had filled the second floor blew up toward the roof and vanished. Looking up, she saw that there was a space nearly a foot high between the top of the log wall and the roof. The roof rested on big vertical timbers, its overhang covering the opening. Men could climb up there, she supposed, and shoot down; the attackers would have to be standing directly below them to shoot back.
There was a heap she didn't know about this fort. In the years since Raoul had built it she'd hardly ever had reason to set foot inside—the last time was when she and Frank had appealed to him to leave men behind to protect the town. Now her life depended on how well Raoul had built it, and it was bitter medicine to swallow.
David Cooper left his rifle port to talk to Frank.
"It's only a few hours till sunset," Cooper said in a low voice, "and I have a hunch they'll try one big attack to take this place before dark. If they come all at once, we don't have enough rifles to stop them."
His tone was matter-of-fact, but his words struck terror into Nicole's heart. She took Frank's hand and squeezed it. It felt cold as a dead man's.
Cooper went on. "I keep thinking about that cannon downstairs. You know, whatever we might say about Raoul de Marion, he did set this place up to be defended. I figure that cannon must be in working order."
"Do you know how to fire a cannon?" Frank asked.