"An Indian's head over the top of the fence near the gate. There's one villain the less to trouble us!" At this moment Susan and Luke both fired, the reports coming so near together as to sound like one, and the girl cried, triumphantly: "I've hit another! What did you do, Luke?" "I don't know; he went backward at the flash, like a loon; but it seems as if I must have struck him, for I had a fair aim." Mistress Pemberton now had work to perform, for those in the loft soon learned that it would be impossible to recharge the weapons and at the same time keep close watch on what might be happening outside. Seven shots had been fired from the dwelling, three of which were known to have found their targets, when a heavy pounding at the gate told of additional danger. "What is it?" Mistress Harding cried, and Mark replied, quietly, as if it was of no especial consequence: "The Frenchmen have come, and are battering down the gate." "How long will it take them to do it?" Susan asked, her voice quivering despite all efforts to render it steady. "It will be a good half-hour's job, with what timber they can pick up near at hand. If they should cut down a stout tree, the work might be done in half that time. Keep your eyes on the top of the fence, for if one fellow gets inside he might succeed in pulling out the bars before we could stop him." Twice more the children fired, and then it was as if the Abenakis had tired of a game at which they were rapidly being worsted without an opportunity to inflict any injury. "They've made up their minds to wait till the gate is down," Mark said, grimly. "We must have all the muskets ready when the rush comes, and shoot with good aim, for it will be our last fair chance." All this while the flames had been increasing in volume, and the heat inside the dwelling, filled with the smoke of burning powder as it was, seemed stifling. The younger children had drank of the muddy water eagerly, giving no heed to its disagreeable appearance, and the older members of the little company were already suffering with thirst; but never one of them ventured to claim a portion of the scanty supply. "The fence is on fire," Mark said as he left his station at the front of the loft to survey the scene in the rear. "The wind is getting up in great shape, and coming from the east, otherwise these housed would be on fire by this time." "There goes the upper part of the gate!" Luke cried. "Two or three more fair blows, and the whole will be down!" Mark came back to where he could overlook the scene of what he believed would be the final struggle, and the three children crouched, muskets in hand, ready to empty the six weapons before the enemy could approach the house sufficiently near to find shelter under its walls.