Still there was nothing left to do but wait.  We were already as completely prepared as possible with our resources.  The main assault would undoubtedly be delivered from the front, directed against the door, the only point where they could hope to break in.  Here Tim and myself held our positions, as ready as we could be for any emergency, and watchful of the slightest movement without.  Tim had even brought up the half-keg of coarse powder from the cellar, and rolled it into one corner out of the way.  His only explanation was, a grim reply to my question, that “it mought be mighty handy ter hav’ round afore the fracus wus done.”  We had stationed Asa on the bench, as a protection to any attack from the rear, although our only real fear of danger from that direction lay in an attempt to fire the cabin during the engagement in front.  I had instructed the boy to stay there whatever happened, as he could be of no help anywhere else, and to shoot, and keep shooting at anything he saw.  Not overly-bright, and half-dead with fear as he was, I had no doubt but what he would prove dangerous enough once the action started; and, if he should fail, Eloise, crouching just behind him in the corner, could be trusted to hold him to his duty.  There was no fear in her, no shrinking, no evidence of cowardice.  Not once did I feel the need of giving her word of encouragement—­even as I glanced toward her it was to perceive the gleam of a pistol gripped in her hand.  She was of the old French fighting stock, which never fails.

My eyes softened as I gazed at her, her head held proudly erect, every nerve alert, her eyes steadfast and clear.  Against the log wall a few yards away, Kirby strained at his blanket bonds, and had at last succeeded in lifting himself up far enough so as to stare about the room.  There was none of the ordinary calm of the gambler about the fellow now—­all the pitiless hate, and love of revenge which belonged to his wild Indian blood blazed in his eyes.  He glared at me in sudden, impotent rage.

“You think you’ve got me, do you?” he cried, scowling across; then an ugly grin distorted his thin lips.  “Not yet you haven’t, you soldier dog.  I’ve got some cards left to play in this game, you young fool.  What did you butt in for anyway?  This was none of your affair.  Damn you, Knox, do you know who she is?  I mean that white-faced chit over there—­do you know who she is?  You think you are going to get her away from me?  Well, you are not—­she’s my wife; do you hear?—­my wife!  I’ve got the papers, damn you!  She’s mine!—­mine; and I am going to have her long after you’re dead—­yes, and the whole damn Beaucaire property with her.  By God! you talk about fighting—­why there are fifty Indians out there.  Wait till they find out what has happened to me.  Oh, I’ll watch you die at the stake, you sneaking white cur, and spit in your face!”

“Kirby,” I said sternly, but quietly, stepping directly across toward him, “I’ve heard what you said, and that is enough.  You are a prisoner, and helpless, but I am going to tell you now to hold your tongue.  Otherwise you will never see me at the stake, because I shall blow your brains out where you lie.  One more word, and I am going to rid this world of its lowest specimen of a human being.”