Only one glance Stern gave at it, as she held it up. A long reed stem he saw wrapped at its base with cotton fibers--a fish-bone point, firm-lashed--and on that point a dull red stain, a blotch of something dry and shiny. "Blow-gun darts!" cried he. "Poisoned! They've seen the light--got our range! They're up there in the tree-tops--shooting at us!" With one puff, the light was gone. By the wrist he seized Beatrice. He dragged her toward the front wall, off to one side, out of range. "The flasks of Pulverite! Suppose a dart should hit one?" exclaimed the girl. "That's so! Wait here--I'll get them!" But she was there beside him as, in the thick dark, he cautiously felt for the deadly things and found them with a hand that _dared not_ tremble. And though here, there, the little venom-stings whis-s-shed over them and past them, to shatter on the rear wall, she helped him bear the vials, all nine of them, to a place of safety in the left-hand front corner where by no possibility could they be struck. Together then, quietly as wraiths, they stole into the next room; and there, from a window not as yet attacked, they spied out at the dark tree-tops that lay in dense masses almost brushing the walls. "See? See there?" whispered Stern in the girl's ear. He pointed where, not ten yards away and below, a blacker shadow seemed to move along a hemlock branch. Forgotten now, his wounds. Forgotten his loss of blood, his fever and his weakness. The sight of that creeping stealthy attack nerved him with new vigor. And, even as the girl looked, Stern drew his revolver. Speaking no further word, he laid the ugly barrel firm across the sill. Carefully he sighted, as best he could in that gloom lit only by the stars. Coldly as though at a target-shot, he brought the muzzle-sight to bear on that deep, crawling shadow. Then suddenly a spurt of fire split the night. The crackling report echoed away. And with a bubbling scream, the shadow loosened from the limb, as a ripe fruit loosens. Vaguely they saw it fall, whirl, strike a branch, slide off, and disappear. All at once a pattering rain of darts flickered around them. Stern felt one strike his fur jacket and bounce off. Another grazed the girl's head. But to their work they stood, and flinched not. Now her revolver was speaking, in antiphony with his; and from the branches, two, three, five, eight, ten of the ape-things fell. "Give it to 'em!" shouted the engineer, as though he had a regiment behind him. "_Give_ it to 'em!" And again he pulled the trigger. The revolver was empty. With a cry he threw it down, and, running to where the shotgun stood, snatched it up. He scooped into his pocket a handful of shells from the box where they were stored; and as he darted back to the window, he cocked both hammers. "Poom! _Poom!_" The deep baying of the revolver roared out in twin jets of flame. Stern broke the gun and jacked in two more shells. Again he fired.