“What’s to be done?” asked Baxter.
Anderson shook his head.
On the instant there was a dull spat of an object striking the roof over their heads. This sound was followed by a long, shrill yell.
“That was a burnin’ arrow,” declared Anderson.
The men, as of one accord, ran out through the engineers’ quarters to the open. It was now dark. Little fires dotted the hillsides. A dull red speck, like an ember, showed over the roof, darkened, and disappeared. Then a streak of fire shot out from the black slope and sped on clear over the camp.
“Sooner or later they’ll make a go of that,” muttered Anderson.
Neale heard the scout’s horse, that had been left there in the inclosure.
“Anderson, suppose I jump your horse. It’s dark as pitch. I could run through—reach the troops. I’ll take a chance.”
“I had that idee myself,” replied Anderson. “But it seems to me if them troopers wasn’t havin’ hell they’d been here long ago. I’m lookin’ for them every minnit. They’ll come. An’ we’ve got to fight fire now till they get here.”
“But there’s no fire yet,” said Baxter.