Brandt hurried, looked out. His face paled, his lower jaw protruded, quivered, and then was shut hard. He walked away, put his foot on a bench and began to lace his leggings.
"Wal?" demanded Legget.
"The game's up! Get ready to run and be shot at," cried Brandt with a hiss of passion.
Almost as he spoke the roof of the hut shook under a heavy blow.
"What's thet?" No one replied. Legget glanced from Brandt's cold, determined face to the uneasy savages. They were restless, and handling their weapons. The chief strode across the floor with stealthy steps.
"Thud!"
A repetition of the first blow caused the Indians to jump, and drew a fierce imprecation from their outlaw leader.
Brandt eyed him narrowly. "It's coming to you, Legget. They are shooting arrows of fire into the roof from the cliff. Zane is doin' that. He can make a bow and draw one, too. We're to be burned out. Now, damn you! take your medicine! I wanted you to kill him when you had the chance. If you had done so we'd never have come to this. Burned out, do you get that? Burned out!"
"Fire!" exclaimed Legget. He sat down as if the strength had left his legs.
The Indians circled around the room like caged tigers.