“We must do it,” groaned Menzies, “or it’s all up with us. We can’t get at the bedding; the fiends have put it too far off from the window.”
A noisy clamor interrupted our conversation, as the men from other parts of the house poured into the room, drawn thither by Menzies’ summons of a moment before. They were under the impression that a rush had been made and repelled; when they learned the truth they quieted down, and a sort of awed horror was visible on every face.
No time was wasted in words. At any instant the savages might return to complete their devilish task; the chance of beating them back, slight as it was must be made the most of. Our last card was staked on that, and we grimly prepared to play it. Eight men were assigned to the loopholes—there were four on each side of the shuttered windows—and five others, including Christopher Burley, brought powder and ball, and set to work to load spare rifles. The rest were sent back to watch at their posts, lest a counter attack should be made in those directions.
It had all been so sudden, so overwhelming, that I felt dazed as I looked from my loophole into the murky, snow-flecked night. Across the crust, dotted with ghastly forms, the outbuildings loomed vaguely. Behind them hundreds of bloodthirsty redskins lay sheltered; but there was scarcely a sound to be heard save the pitiful whining of the husky dogs who were shut up in the canoe house.
“Fate is against us!” I reflected bitterly. “A few moments ago I believed we could hold out for days—I was confident that we should all escape; and now this black cloud of despair, of death, has fallen upon us! Flora, my darling, I pray Heaven to spare you! God help us to beat the savages off—to save the house!”
Just then I detected a movement in the distance, and I knew too well what it meant. My companions saw it also, and they broke out with warning exclamations:
“Here they come!” “Be ready, boys!” “Give the devils a hot reception!” “Keep the spare muskets handy!”
“Take sharp aim and make every shot tell!” Menzies cried hoarsely. “Fire at those nearest your own side. My God, look yonder—”
His voice was drowned by one blood-curdling screech poured from a hundred throats. Through the driving snow a dusky mass rolled forward, and when it was halfway across the space we made out no less than a score of Indians each shouldering three or four planks of short length. With reckless valor they came on, whooping and yelling defiantly.
“They’ve taken the cut timber that was stored in the powder house!” cried Carteret. “It’s as dry as touchwood and will burn like wildfire!”