bitter glory. At sunrise the faint trickles of
smoke rose from hundreds of wood fires, started with the difficult green
fuel, and stringent breakfasts were prepared. A thought went through
Ken's mind and he wondered if anybody was taking note of the supply of
matches in town. When they ran low, coals of one fire would have to be
kept to light another.

It was 9 o'clock, on a day when ordinarily school bells would have been
sounding throughout the valley. The first war shouts of the attacking
nomads were heard on the plain to the south. About thirty men on
horseback raced single file along the highway that bore the hard, frozen
tracks of horses and sleds that had moved to and from the farms down
there.

Patrolman Sykes watched them through his glasses. His command rang out
to his company. "Hold fire." He knew the nomads would not hope to break
through the barbed wire on such a rush. It looked as if they planned an
Indian-style attack as the line began breaking in a slow curve something
less than 100 yards away.

"Fire!" Sykes commanded. Volleys of shots rang out on both sides almost
simultaneously. The lead rider of the nomads went down, his horse
galloping in riderless panic at the head of the line. The hard-riding
column paralleled the barrier for 200 yards, drawing the fire of
adjacent guard posts before they broke and turned south again. It was,
evidently, a test of the strength of the defenses.

"Every shot counts!" Sykes cried out to his men. As the attackers rode
out of effective range he sighted four riderless horses. Beside him, in
the barricade, one of his own men was hit and bleeding badly. A
tourniquet was prepared until two men of the medical detail arrived with
an improvised stretcher.

Sykes sat down and rested his head on his arms for a moment. The air was
well below freezing, but his face was bathed with sweat. How long? he
asked himself silently. How long can it go on? First the comet, then
this. He roused at a sudden cry beside him.

"They're coming back," a man shouted. Sykes stood up and raised his
fieldglasses to his eyes. From around the point a fresh group of riders
was pouring toward the town. At least three times as many as before.

In a flash, he understood their intent. "They're going to come through!"
he cried. "They're going to come right through the barrier, no matter
what it costs them!"

Chapter 15. _Battle_

The hard-riding nomad cavalry bore down on the defense line.