here they could hope to break in. Here Tim and
myself held our positions, as ready as we could be for any emergency,
and watchful of the slightest movement without. Tim had even brought
up the half-keg of coarse powder from the cellar, and rolled it into
one corner out of the way. His only explanation was, a grim reply to
my question, that "it mought be mighty handy ter hav' round afore the
fracus wus done." We had stationed Asa on the bench, as a protection
to any attack from the rear, although our only real fear of danger from
that direction lay in an attempt to fire the cabin during the
engagement in front. I had instructed the boy to stay there whatever
happened, as he could be of no help anywhere else, and to shoot, and
keep shooting at anything he saw. Not overly-bright, and half-dead
with fear as he was, I had no doubt but what he would prove dangerous
enough once the action started; and, if he should fail, Eloise,
crouching just behind him in the corner, could be trusted to hold him
to his duty. There was no fear in her, no shrinking, no evidence of
cowardice. Not once did I feel the need of giving her word of
encouragement--even as I glanced toward her it was to perceive the
gleam of a pistol gripped in her hand. She was of the old French
fighting stock, which never fails.

My eyes softened as I gazed at her, her head held proudly erect, every
nerve alert, her eyes steadfast and clear. Against the log wall a few
yards away, Kirby strained at his blanket bonds, and had at last
succeeded in lifting himself up far enough so as to stare about the
room. There was none of the ordinary calm of the gambler about the
fellow now--all the pitiless hate, and love of revenge which belonged
to his wild Indian blood blazed in his eyes. He glared at me in
sudden, impotent rage.

"You think you've got me, do you?" he cried, scowling across; then an
ugly grin distorted his thin lips. "Not yet you haven't, you soldier
dog. I've got some cards left to play in this game, you young fool.
What did you butt in for anyway? This was none of your affair. Damn
you, Knox, do you know who she is? I mean that white-faced chit over
there--do you know who she is? You think you are going to get her away
from me? Well, you are not--she's my wife; do you hear?--my wife!
I've got the papers, damn you! She's mine!--mine; and I am going to
have her long after you're dead--yes, and the whole damn Beaucaire
property with her. By