The embers on the hearth had smouldered so low that they were mere points of light that served to make the gloom deeper and more expressive. But suddenly a half-burned stick fell apart, and a little twist of flame filled almost the entire room with light.

By its illumination the Indian was seen standing at the foot of the ladder, his rifle grasped in his left hand, his right at his hip, while his body was crouching in the attitude of intense attention, and as if he were on the point of making a leap forward.

He happened to be looking toward the fireplace; but, fortunately for the women, both were gazing straight at him. He glanced to the right and left, and, catching sight of the figures behind him, wheeled like a panther, 160 emitting a hiss of exultation at the knowledge that he had found his victims at last.

But the first dart of his serpent-like eyes showed the white woman, as immovable as a statue, with her rifle levelled at his chest and her delicate forefinger on the trigger.

Mrs. Shirril had the drop on him!

“If you move, I will shoot you dead!” she said in a low voice, in which there was not the first tremor.

Possibly the Comanche did not understand the English tongue, but he could not mistake her meaning. He knew that on the first motion to raise his rifle, draw his knife, or take one step toward the couple, he would be slain where he stood. He, therefore, remained as motionless as she who held him at her mercy.

The tiny twist of flame on the hearth, that had served our friends so well, would soon burn itself out; it was already flickering, and, if left alone, the room would soon be in darkness again, and the situation would undergo a radical change.

“Dinah,” said her mistress, without changing 161 her position, or raising her voice, “keep the fire burning!”

“Yes’m, I will,” she replied, shuffling hurriedly across the floor to the hearth, where she stooped down. She scorned to turn out of the way of the prisoner, lest he should fancy he was held in fear. She passed him almost close enough to touch, and showed her contempt by shaking her fist at him.

“Oh, you willian! I’d like to wring your neck for comin’ into my dispartment without axin’ permission.”

A strange flicker shot from the eyes of the warrior as they followed her for a moment, but he neither moved nor spoke, his gaze reverting again to his conqueror.

Under the deft manipulation of Dinah’s fingers, the flames shot up with more vigor than before. Then, recalling the risk that this involved, Mrs. Shirril told her to come to her side, where she would be out of range of any of their enemies who might be near the windows.

“That will burn for a considerable time,” added the lady, referring to the fire the servant 162 had renewed, “so, if you please, you may go to the scuttle and see how the captain is getting along.”

“Wouldn’t you like to do that, missis?” asked Dinah.

“But I must watch this person.”

“I’ll do dat.”

Her mistress, however, read her meaning in her tones and manner. She was eager to get a chance at the fellow, and, if she did, even for only a few seconds, it would go hard with him.

“No; I will attend to him; do as I told you.”

There was no questioning the decision of the little lady, and Dinah, with another threatening gesture at the painted face of the savage, went by him and began climbing the ladder.

“Neber mind,” she said to herself, though her mistress overheard the words, “when I come downstairs again, I’ll cotch one ob my feet and tumble onto you, and you’ll be squashed worser dan if de house tumbled ober your head.”

The captive seemed to understand what all 163 this meant. He had escaped thus far, but he might well fear the consequences, after the man aloft put in an appearance.

Dinah had hardly passed out of sight when the Comanche said in a low voice:

“Me go––won’t hurt.”

Although the intonation of the words was wrong, the woman knew from the glance at the door, which accompanied them, that he meant to ask permission to depart.

“Yes, you can go,” was the astonishing answer, and she nodded her head.

The Indian moved hesitatingly at first, in the direction of the entrance, keeping his gleaming eyes on the woman, as if doubtful whether she understood him.

“Go on, be quick,” she added reassuringly, though she took care that the old-fashioned weapon was not lowered or turned aside.

The voices of the servant and her master were plainly heard above, and the Comanche saw it was no time for tarrying. A couple more steps took him to the door, and, with little effort, he lifted the huge bolt from its place, pulled open the structure, and whisked 164 out in the darkness, without so much as a “good-night” or “thank you.”

The instant he vanished, Mrs. Shirril set down her gun, darted forward, and slipped back the bolt, making the door as secure as before.

It was a strange act on her part thus releasing the red miscreant who was seeking her life, but, after all, it was characteristic of her sex.

She had little more than time to set things to rights, as may be said, when she stepped back and away from the windows, and sat down in the nearest chair. A slight reaction came over her; she felt weak, though she knew it would not amount to anything: she had been through too many perils before.

The feet and lower limbs of Captain Shirril soon appeared on the rounds of the ladder, with Dinah close behind him. In her eagerness to get at the Indian, she stooped forward, so that her big dusky face showed almost over his shoulders. She was just getting ready to fall on the warrior, when she observed that he was gone.

“Whar’s dat willian?” she demanded, glancing round the dimly lit room.

“Yes, Edna, I heard you had a guest down here.”

“He asked me to let him go, and I thought it was the best way to get rid of him,” replied the wife with a smile, for her strength was returning to her.

“Humph!” snorted the disgusted Dinah, as one of her feet came down on the floor with a bang, “I’s got my ’pinion of sich foolishness as dat.”

“Let me hear how it was, Edna,” said the husband, laughing in spite of himself.

She quickly gave the particulars, and he in turn told what he had passed through during his sojourn on the roof.

“The fellow deserved something, but, after all, I find no fault with your action. Much as I am exasperated against these Comanches for their attack, I couldn’t help feeling an admiration for this fellow, who got the better of me in the neatest style I ever had it done in all my life.”

“Is it not time we heard something from 166 Avon?” asked the wife; “he certainly has been gone more than an hour–––”

“Hark!”

The shouts, whoops, and the reports of guns and pistols suddenly broke the stillness on the outside.

Most of the voices bore a familiar sound, and there were a dash and vim about the whole business which left no doubt of its meaning.

In the firelight of the room, husband and wife looked in each other’s glowing faces, and instinctively the two uttered the same expression:

“The boys have arrived!”