pieces, but the Harn noticed this, and started hitting the door in other
places.

The second day of the attack, the door came down. It had been pretty
shaky for some time, and Ed had got the cabin ready for a siege, filling
butter kegs with water and nailing up the windows. As the Harn poured
through, he shot several and then broke for the cabin. A carrier ran at
him full tilt, bent on bowling him over. Once off his feet, he would
have been easy meat for one of the stingers. He sidestepped, swung his
shotgun up in one hand--he had kept it handy for the close fighting--and
blew the carrier's spine in half. He had to kick it aside to slam the
cabin door.

For a few minutes, then, things were pretty hectic. Ed went from one to
another of the loopholes he had cut, blasting first with the shotgun as
the Harn crowded around, then using the .30 as they grew more cautious.

* * * * *

After the first rush, it was obvious to the Harn that the cabin was
going to be a tough nut to crack. On the other hand, there was no rush
about it either. Necessarily, it had let its hunting go the past several
days while it concentrated on Ed. It was pretty hungry, and it was in
rich pickings now--Ed had always kept from disturbing game close to the
cabin, partly because he liked to see it around, and partly because he
had an idea that some day he might be in a fix where he couldn't travel
very well, and would want meat close to hand. The Harn felt no such
compunctions. The stinging units spread through the woods, and shortly a
steady procession of loaded carriers began to stream back through the
hole. Ed picked off the first few, but then the Harn found it could
route them up the river trail in such a way that he got only a glimpse
as they flashed through the hole. After that he did not hit very many.

Ed stopped shooting. He was getting short on ammunition for the .30 now,
too. He counted up. There were eighteen rounds for the .450, half a box
of 220 grain soft point for the .30 plus about the same amount of
military stuff, and a handful of shotgun shells. Of course, there was
still the .30 Luger with a couple of boxes, and the .22; but they were
not much account for this kind of work.

He looked at the cabin door. It was stout, built of hewed three-inch
slabs, but it wouldn't last forever against the kind of beating the gate
had got. Even if it did, he was going to run out of water eventually.

Ed thoug