arm. I thrust the pistol in my hand against flesh, and fired. Two of us
fell together, but the thought of Polly Ann got me staggering to my feet
again, calling her name. By the grace of God I heard her answer.

"Are ye hurt, Davy?"

"No," said I, "no. And you?"

We drifted together. 'Twas she who had the presence of mind.

"The chest--quick, the chest!"

We stumbled over a body in reaching it. We seized the handles, and with
all our strength hauled it athwart the loose puncheon that seemed to be
lifting even then. A mighty splintering shook the door.

"To the ports!" cried Polly Ann, as our heads knocked together.

To find the rifles and prime them seemed to take an age. Next I was
staring through the loophole along a barrel, and beyond it were three
black forms in line on a long beam. I think we fired--Polly Ann and
I--at the same time. One fell. We saw a comedy of the beam dropping
heavily on the foot of another, and he limping off with a guttural howl
of rage and pain. I fired a pistol at him, but missed him, and then I
was ramming a powder charge down the long barrel of the rifle. Suddenly
there was silence,--even the children had ceased crying. Outside, in the
dooryard, a feathered figure writhed like a snake towards the fence. The
moon still etched the picture in black and white.

Shots awoke me, I think, distant shots. And they sounded like the