One of these caught sight of her, and fired, the bullet chugging into the end of a log, so closely it caught a strand of her hair, but, before another shot could follow, she had seized the shutter, and closed the opening, driving the latch fast with the revolver butt.  She was cool enough now, every nerve on edge, realising fully the danger of their position.  All the blood of a fighting race surged through her veins, and she was conscious of no fear, only of a wild exultation, a strange desire to win.  As she turned she faced Cavendish, only vaguely visible in the twilight caused by the closed window.  He was still seated on the floor, his expression betraying bewilderment.

“Are you hurt?”

“No—­not—­not much.  He knocked all the wind out of me.  I—­I’m all right now.”

“Get up then!  There’s fighting enough ahead to make you forget that.  What happened?”

“He—­he kicked me, I guess.  I—­I don’t exactly know.  I heard you go past us into that other room, and—­and just turned my head to see.  The next I knew I was on the floor, so damned sick—­I beg your pardon—­I thought I was going to faint.  Did I get him with the knife?”

“No, it’s over there, and I am afraid I didn’t touch him either; it was all so sudden I got no aim.  Do you hear those voices?  There must be a dozen of the band outside already.”

He looked up at her, his glance almost vacant, and she could but perceive how his chin shook.

“What shall we do?”

“Do!” she gripped his shoulder.  “Are you a man and ask that?  We will fight!  Did you imagine I would ever surrender myself into the hands of that devil, after what has happened?  I would rather die; yes, I will die before he ever puts hand on me.  And what about you, Mr. Cavendish?  Are you going to lie there moping?  Answer me—­I thought you were a man—­a gentleman.”

The words were like a blow in his face, and under their sting he staggered to his feet; scarlet blazed in both his cheeks.

“You have no right to say that to me,” he said angrily.  “I’m not that kind.”

“I know it,” she admitted, “but you lose your nerve; this isn’t your game.  Well, it isn’t mine either, for the matter of that.  Nevertheless it has got to be played, and we’re going to play it together.  Those fellows will be at that door presently—­just so soon as Mendez tells them who are inside here.  They’ll try us once, and, if we can beat them back, that will give us a breathing spell.”

She paused, glancing swiftly about, listening to the increasing hubbub without.

“There is no other way they can break in except through this door, unless, perhaps, they smash that shutter.  Two of us ought to hold them for some time.”

“But we have only one weapon—­that knife is no use.”

“There is a sawed-off shotgun back yonder; go get it, and hunt for some cartridges.  They may be in the cupboard—­quick now; that’s Mendez’s voice, and he’ll be savage.”