wled forward on hands
and knees. Cavendish pushed home a fresh cartridge, and the smoke
cloud lifted just enough to permit them to perceive the farther
doorway. A Mexican lay curled up in the centre of the floor, his gun a
dozen feet away; another hung dangling across an over-turned stool, but
the opening was vacant. Just outside, a fellow, wounded, was dragging
himself out of range.

"Great Scott!" exclaimed Cavendish, excitedly. "Every shot counted.
Here, load up quick. They'll try the window next. Get down!"

The warning was not an instant too soon, the hasty volley largely
thudding harmlessly into the thick mattress, although a bullet or two
sang past and found billets in the logs behind. Cavendish returned the
fire, shooting blindly into the smoke, but the girl only lifted her
head, staring intently into the smother, until the cloud floated away
through the door. The attackers had again vanished, all semblance of
them, except those two motionless bodies.

She had not before been conscious of any feeling; all she had done had
been automatic, as though under compulsion; but now she felt strangely
sick, and faint. An unutterable horror seized her and her hands
gripped the edge of the bed to keep her erect. She could seem to see
nothing but the ghastly face of that dead man hanging over the stool,
and she closed her eyes. Yet this reaction was only momentary. She
had fired in defence; in a struggle for the preservation of life and
honour. Under spur of this thought she once more gained control.

But how still it was! Even the sound of voices had ceased; and out
through the open door there was no sign of movement. The light seemed
dimmer, also, as though the sun had sunk below the opposite cliffs, and
night was slowly descending upon the valley. What could be happening
out there? Were those men planning some new attempt? Or had they
decided it was better to wait for a larger force? The silence and
uncertainty were harder to combat than the violence of assault; she
struggled to refrain from screaming. Cavendish never moved, his gun
flung forward across the improvised barricade, the very grip of his
hand proving the intensity of nervous strain. Something caused him to
glance toward her.

"Looks as though they had enough of it," he said grimly, "and have
decided to starve us out."

"Oh, do you think so? I heard a noise then."

He heard it also, his glance returning instantly to the front, his