"Who's there?" he kept demanding in a shrill voice. "Two white scouts. Get to shooting!" He could not see me but he heard me, and vanished to help in the defense. Cousin had reloaded and was watching the valley closely. Bullets were plunking into the log walls, but I knew none of the savages were exposing themselves, else my companion would be shooting. From the Granville cabin several shots were fired without any effect so far as we could make out. Then again the Englishman was calling us. I went forward. "Hear what I say?" he cried. I answered that we could. "Ericus Dale says for us to stop shooting or he can't save us," he informed us. "He can't save himself!" I yelled back. "He thinks he can save all of us." "He couldn't save the man at the lick-block," I reminded. "Aye. There's sorry truth in that." "This valley's a trap. John Ward, the white Indian, led him and his daughter into it," I shouted. "God help and pity us!" he groaned. Then more calmly, "Ward came back from the woods this morning and said there were no signs of Indians." "He met them and talked with them, and planned how they should surprise you people. The warrior at the lick-block knew Dicks would discover him, so he showed himself and made his kill." "Aye. That is reasonable thinking." "What losses in there?" I asked. I thrust my knife-blade between the logs so he might know where I was standing and cease rolling his eyes in his efforts to locate me. His old face screwed up in pain. "Mistress Granville and the two children, shot dead. Perhaps it's best that way. I'm wounded--that don't count. You going to keep on shooting?" "As long as we can pull trigger." "I'll tell Granville. He wants to save his sister if he can." "Then he must fight. Tell him so," I warned. I turned back to Cousin. He was scowling savagely through his peephole. "Take the back side 'n' watch for signs on the ridge," he mumbled. "Them out front are huggin' dirt an' not tryin' to git nearer. They're waitin' for somethin'." At the back of the cabin I found a tiny chink and applied my eye. My first thought was that a comet was streaming down into my face. The long war-arrow, weighted with a blazing mass of pitch-smeared moss, stuck in a log a few inches below my peephole. From the ridge came a howl of triumph. By thrusting my knife-blade through the hole and against the shaft of the arrow I managed to dislodge it, and it burned itself out against the huge bottom log. We did not fear fire until the arrows stuck in the roof. The same thought was in Cousin's mind. He did not look around, but he had smelled the smoke and he directed: "Climb up an' work the roof-poles apart a bit so's you can knock 'em off the roof when they land."