A long, quavering cry arose, and after that came a silence that lay very still and deadly upon Paul’s soul.  Henry had seen in the shadow a deeper shadow quiver, and he had fired instantly but with deadly aim.  Paul, looking through the loophole on his own side of the cabin, could see nothing for a little space, but presently arose a patter of feet, and many forms darted through the dusk toward the cabin.  He quickly fired one rifle, and then the other, but whether his bullets hit he could not tell.  Then heavy forms thudded against the log walls of the hut, and through the loophole he heard deep breathing.

“They’ve gained the side of the cabin,” said Henry, “and we can’t reach ’em with our rifles now.”

“I did my best, Henry,” said Paul ruefully.  Conflict did not appeal to him, but the wilderness left no choice.

“Of course, Paul,” said Henry, with every appearance of cheerfulness, “it’s not your fault.  In such darkness as this they were bound to get there.  But they are not inside yet by a long sight.  Be sure you don’t get in front of any of the loopholes.”

There came a heavy push at the door, but neither it nor the bar showed the slightest sign of giving way.  Henry laughed low.

“They can’t get enough warriors against that door to push it in,” he said.

The two boys rapidly reloaded the empty rifles, and now each crouched against the wall, where no chance bullet through a loophole could reach him.  An eye unused to the darkness could have seen nothing there.  Their figures were blended against the logs, and they did not speak, but each, listening intently, could hear what was going on outside.  Paul’s fancy, as usual, added to the reality.  He heard men moving cautiously, soft footfalls going pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat around the cabin, and it seemed to him a stray word of advice or caution now and then.

The silence was broken suddenly by a blaze of fire that seemed to come through the wall, a report that roared like a cannon in the cabin.  A spurt of smoke entered at one of the holes, and a bullet burled itself in the opposite wall.  A savage had boldly thrust the muzzle of his rifle into a loophole and fired.

“Be still, Paul,” whispered Henry.  “They can’t hit us, and they are wasting their ammunition.”

A second shot was tried by the besiegers, but the result was only the roaring, echoing report, the smoke and the flame, and the bullet that found a vain target of wood.  But to Paul, with an imagination fed by stories of mighty battles, it was like a cannonade.  Great guns were trained upon Henry and himself.  A thin, fine smoke from the two shots had entered the cabin, and it floated about, tickling his nostrils, and adding, with its savor, to the fever that began to rise in his blood.  He dropped to his knees, and was creeping, rifle ready, toward one of the loopholes, eager with the desire to fire back, when Henry’s strong hand fell upon his shoulder.