and toward the door.

So deep indeed was my agitation, so intense my thought, that I scarcely
realized I was creeping along barely beneath the dead line of those
bullets which constantly swept the apartment. Their crashing into the
wall was almost meaningless, and I barely noted either the dense smoke
or the fitful flashes of flame as the little garrison returned shot for
shot. It was Brennan's voice--how hateful it sounded then--which
recalled my attention.

"Mapes," he said, with the sharp tone of wearied command, "take a crack
at that fellow over yonder by the big tree; he must be in range. You
men, I verily believe, shut your eyes when you shoot, for there hasn't
a man dropped out there in the last half hour."

I had reached the door by this time, but paused now, determined to
venture one word of expostulation at his recklessness.

"Major Brennan," I said, speaking sufficiently loud to be audible above
the uproar, "do you not think they will attempt to charge the house?"

"Not while we keep up this fire," he returned coldly, evidently
recognizing my voice.

"I grant that, at least while darkness lasts. But you have just
complained that your men were doing but small execution, and is there
not danger of exhausting our stock of ammunition by such a useless
fusillade?"

"It will last until our fellows get here--that is, if your man was ever