"I could do it better if I had a light," said Healy. It was the first time he had spoken for hours. Some rally of courage had come to him with desperation.
"We're all lit up now on the outside," said Harvey. "Might as well keep a fire goin'. Help our aim a bit, an' we don't want to lose any ca'tridges in the dirt. Might need every last one. Damation, but it's hot."
At the foot of the cliff the fires were blazing fiercely and the heat reflected far back into the cavern. Doubtless an opening had been left to permit use of the path but it was idiocy for the defenders to expose themselves in the glare. They waited in strained silence, only broken by the snapping, hissing flames and the steady roar of the updraught. Then, as if by magic, the crescent opening left between the top of their breastwork and the arching brow of the cave was blocked by wild figures leaping in from the path and swinging down by lines from where they had climbed the cliff to ledges above the cave and now, regardless of the fire, pendulumed in like apes. The night was filled with yells, the first swift swish of arrows, the crack-crack of pistols, the deeper bark of rifles, and then clubbed weapons were whirled in desperate defence against spears and axes. The cave reeked with gases from the powder, echoed with guttural shots, war-cries, and the panting of strong men slugging and struggling.
The attack faltered—died away. Dead Indians lay across the barricade. Some of them had fallen
