seized her: with a hoarse cry, she
sprang up the stairs, flinging down a chair as he followed panting.

Quickly she climbed up the ladder to the loft, threw down the trapdoor,
fell on it, bolted it, waited. All was still. Outside she heard the
distant yells. She stooped noiselessly and put her ear upon the floor.
There was soft breathing underneath, and through a crack in the floor
she saw an eye peering up at her.

She stood a long time, motionless, axe in hand, ready.

Her back was to the bolt, but suddenly she _felt_ that there was
something there. She turned softly. A slim brown hand was almost through
a crevice in the floor.

She raised her axe. The slender fingers touched the bolt and gently drew
it back.

Then with the force of all her hatred fell the axe upon the wrist. The
hand sprang up at her. With a howl of agony the creature fell bumping
beneath.

Then all again was still.

Her face was wet and warm with the spattered blood.

Outside she heard the crackling of a burning house, then gunshots far
away, and distant shouts. On tiptoe she went to the garret window,
and peeped round its edge. Over the hills, quite near, she saw the
men returning. One house was blazing--the minister's. The Indians were
retreating. Near her door, grazing, stood a riderless horse. _She_ knew
its owner. As they rode past, they caught at it, but were stopped by
a shout from her door. An Indian rushed out, handsome, young, holding
aloft a bare right arm without a hand. In his language he shrieked to
them for revenge, pointing up with his red wrist to the attic where she
stood.

The eyes of the woman shot fire. She leaned far out and shook her fist
from the garret window.

"One Indian at least!"

She hurled the axe at them. It fell far short. They fired as they
passed, but none hit her. Nearer came the men.

The wounded man leaped to his horse and with a curse rode on. The woman
laughed as he passed beneath, then sat down in the dusky loft with a red
pool at her feet.

Shortly the men returned. Some went by down the hill, after the Indians.
Others put out the fire. All was confusion, bustle, shouts.

Then the women and the children came and added to the din, and the men
who had followed returned. But the woman in black sat alone in the loft,
till she heard the crowd at her door below, and the voice of the pale
woman say:

"Where is Mary?"

She rose and lifted the trap-door--it was unbolted--and went down.

The p