“I think the door is giving way, sir,” said George, quietly, to Lord Fairfax, as the sound of breaking timbers mingled with the screech of the savages. “I know it, sir,” added Lance, grimly. “We can keep the scoundrels out of the front door by stationing men in the half-story above; but there is no way of defending the kitchen door from the inside.” “How many Indians do you think you saw, George?” asked Lord Fairfax, as coolly as if he were asking the number of cabbages in a garden. “At least a dozen, sir.” “Then if you saw a dozen there were certainly fifty,” was the earl’s remark. The next moment a louder crash than before showed the door had given way, and in another instant the narrow passageway swarmed with Indians. George, mechanically following Lance’s movements, raised his musket and fired straight at the incoming mob, the first hostile shot of his life. He felt a strange quiver and tremor, and an acute sensitiveness to everything that was happening around him. He stood shoulder to shoulder with Lance, and Lord Fairfax quietly moved in front of him, which he thought strange. [Illustration: THE FIGHT IN THE KITCHEN PASSAGE] “Kneel down,” said Lance, in quite his ordinary voice, kneeling himself so that the armed negroes behind him could fire over his head. Lord Fairfax and George did likewise. The perfect coolness and self-possession of Lance and Lord Fairfax amazed George. He had never seen old soldiers under fire before. For himself, he felt wildly excited, and was conscious that his features were working convulsively, and his heart thumped so loudly against his ribs that he heard it over the crashing of the musket-balls. It flashed before his mind that any and every moment might be his last, and he thought of his mother and Betty; he thought of everything, in fact, except one: that he might run away. He stood as if nailed to the ground, loading and firing faster than he ever did in his life, and so accurately that both the earl and Lance had time to be astonished; but it was merely the habit of doing things quickly and accurately which kept his hands and brain at work automatically, while his nerves were being racked as those of all creatures are when brought face to face with the red death. He saw the Indians swarming into the narrow passageway, and recognized Black Bear at their head. They had tomahawks as well as muskets, but they did not get near enough to use their hatchets. The steady fusillade checked their advance after the first onset, and they fell back a little, leaving one gaunt body upon the ground. All at once George’s senses seemed to return to him, and he felt as calm and unshaken as either the earl or Lance. He turned to the earl and said: “The two swivels are in the cellar directly back of us, and on a level with us. If we had one we could command this passage.” “Get it,” replied the earl, laconically. “Take Cæsar with you--it is on wheels, you know.”