ee what I
can do with my left hand and the knife. Can you shoot?"

"Yes."

"Can you hit anything?"

"Yes."

"To be depended on?"

"Yes."

"Well, it's darned lucky. How long will that door hold?"

They were both in the little passage by now, pressed close together,
listening to the furtive pick, pick, of some one at the lock.

"I don't think it will hold more than a minute."

"Now, look here," he said, "I shall go and stand at the foot of the
stair, and knife the second man, if there is a second. The first man
I'll leave to you. There's a bit of light outside from the snow. He'll
let in enough light to see him by as he opens the door. Don't wait. Fire
at him as he comes in, and don't stop; go on firing at him till he
drops. You've got six bullets. Don't you make any mistake and shoot me.
I've had enough of that already. Now, you look carefully where I'm going
to stand and when I'm there you put out the lamp."

He spoke to her as a man does to his comrade.

That she could be frightened did not seem to enter his calculations. He
moved with cat-like stealth to the foot of the tiny staircase, and
flattened himself against the wall. Then he stretched his left arm once
or twice as if to make sure of it, licked the haft of the knife, and
nodded at her.

She instantly put out the lamp.

All was dark save for a faint thread of light which outlined the door.
Across the thread something moved once--twice. The sound of picking
ceased. Then another sound succeeded it, a new one, unlike the last, as
if something was being gently prized open, wrenched.

"The bar will hold," she said to herself; and then remembered for the
first time that the rung into which the bar slid had been loose these
many days. It was giving now.

It had given!

The door opened silently, and a man came in.

For a moment she saw him clear with the accomplice snowlight behind him.
She did not hesitate. She shot once and again. He fell, and struggled
violently up, and she shot again. He fell, and dragged himself to his
knees, and she shot again. Then he sank gently and slowly down, as if
tired, with his face against the wall, and moved no more.

The man on the stairs rushed out and looked through the open door.

"By G----! he was single-handed," he said.

Then he stooped over the prostrate man, and turned him over on his
back.

"Dead!" he said, chuckling. "Well done, missus! Stone dead!"

He was masked.

The dirty left hand tore the