But another and another burning arrow followed, and in spite of desperate and vigilant action the pine shingles burst into flames in several places.  At this juncture Henry, whose station was on the south side of the house, approached Mr. Arnold and said: 

“Sir, I see Chiquita grazing near the spring, close to the edge of the willows, and the two Indians there with the herd keep well this way, watching the fight.  If you think best, I will creep through the passage, mount, and ride to the fort for the soldiers.”

Mr. Arnold did not at once reply.  He took a long look through a loop-hole towards the spring, and Henry, misinterpreting his silence, said: 

“Don’t think I want to desert you, sir, and skip the ranch.  I’ll stay here and do my best with the others, but I thought, perhaps, if I could do it, I might save you all.”

“God bless ye, my boy; nobody can doubt yer fightin’ ’bility; yer was born a soldier.  I was only thinkin’ yer chance uv gittin’ by them two redskins at the spring’s mighty small.”

“Then you think it a good plan?”

“Yes; I’d like to have ye do it, if ye can.”

“Thank you, sir.  I’ll do my best.”

Then the lad passed around the rooms, taking the hand of each defender in farewell until he reached Brenda.  As he took her hand in his right and fondly lay his left upon it, the young girl broke into uncontrollable sobbing, and, throwing her disengaged arm over his shoulder, said: 

“Oh, Henry! what a dear, brave boy you are!  You never think of yourself, but always of your friends!”

“I will bring the soldiers, Brenda, and you shall all be saved.  Keep up a good heart.”

“But it is such a long ride, and even if you do get away, you may find us dead or captives when you return.”

“You must be brave, Brenda—­no, not brave, for you are that already; but be patient.  We are sure to be here before those fellows can take the little fort.  That can be defended as long as the ammunition holds out.”

Then the boy kissed the pretty Brenda and her cousins, and dropped into the cellar.  Passing into the earthwork, he selected his saddle and bridle from a heap of others, buckled on his spurs, dropped with bowed head upon his knees a moment, and crept into the passage leading to the spring.  Groping his way between the narrow walls, he presently emerged through a natural crevice in a mass of bowlders near the spring.  Standing in the screen of willows, he parted the branches cautiously in the direction of the two Indians, and saw them less than a hundred yards distant, standing with their backs towards him watching the Arnold house, the roof of which was now a roaring, leaping mass of flame.

Closing the boughs again, Henry opened them in an opposite direction and crept softly up to Chiquita, holding out his hand to her.  The docile pony raised her head, and, coming forward, placed her nose in his palm, submitting to be saddled and bridled without objection or noise.