He wouldn't have come down alive unless
he'd got an answer."
Saidee said no more, and they sat together in silence, Victoria holding
her sister's icy hand in hers, which was scarcely warmer, though it
tingled with the throbbing of many tiny pulses. So they listened to the
firing outside, until suddenly it sounded different to Victoria's ears.
She straightened herself with a start, listening even more intensely.
"What's the matter? What do you hear?" Saidee stammered, dry-lipped.
"I'm not sure. But--I think they've used up all the cartridges I took
them. And there are no more."
"But they're firing still."
"With their revolvers."
"God help us, then! It can't last long," the older woman whispered, and
covered her face with her hands.
Victoria did not stop for words of comfort. She jumped up from the couch
of blankets and ran to the door, which Stephen had shut. It must be kept
wide open, now, in case the defenders were obliged to rush in for the
last stand. She pressed close to it, convulsively grasping the handle
with her cold fingers.
Then the end came soon, for the enemy had not been slow to detect the
difference between rifle and revolver shots. They knew, even before
Victoria guessed, exactly what had happened. It was the event they had
been awaiting. With a rush, the dozen men dashed over the mound of
carcasses and charged the burning barricade.
"Quick, Wings," shouted Stephen, defending the way his friend must take.
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