the Indians. She dragged Pamela
out of the doorway with the help of Ellen Slattery, the blacksmith's
wife. They got Pamela sitting on a bench by the wall. Her thick chestnut
hair tumbled forward as Nicole pushed her head down to revive her.

_I don't know why I'm doing this. It's a mercy she's unconscious._

_Frank!_

Her heart in her throat, Nicole pushed herself to her feet and ran back
to the door. An arrow whizzed through the open doorway. It clanged off
the iron muzzle of the cannon that stood in the center of the blockhouse
hall.

_I'd make a mighty big target for those Indians_, she thought, the wry
little joke helping to keep her from crying in her terror.

She peered around the edge of the doorway to see a fury of brown bodies
on the southern catwalk where Frank had been standing. In the center of
the catwalk, one brave with a rooster's comb of red-dyed hair shouted
and brandished a steel-headed tomahawk, sending parties to hammer at the
doors of the corner towers with clubs, tomahawks and rifle butts. Black
rings painted around his eyes and yellow slashes on his cheekbones gave
him a terrifying look.

Even in the midst of her fear and hatred she could see that his body was
magnificent. The most beautiful man's body she'd ever seen.

To her relief Nicole saw no dead white men anywhere--except for Burke
Russell, who lay still, his head a bright red mess, one arm hanging down
over the edge of the eastern catwalk. She looked at him quickly and then
looked away, feeling sick again.

What made it even more of a shame that Burke had died on the palisade
was that the men never planned to hold it. They just wanted to delay the
Indians a bit. Here in the blockhouse was where they hoped to be able to
hold out.

With God's help.

"Oh, Burke! Oh, my Burke!" Pamela Russell was awake and screaming. Ellen
Slattery looked helplessly at Nicole.

Nicole felt heartbroken for Pamela, but she had to let her be. There was
too much to do. She ran through the people crowded into the main room on
the ground floor of the blockhouse. There must be four hundred people
here, mostly women and children, she thought.

_And Raoul's got over a hundred men from Victor with him. God knows
where._

Here they had more rifles than men. Two dozen rifles leaned against the
stone wall. Many families owned two or three rifles, and people had
grabbed them as they fled to the trading post.

_Well, a woman can ram a ball down a muzzle and