The order came not a moment too soon, for an answering volley of shots penetrated the walls and passed harmlessly over the heads of those within. Meanwhile, some one seeing the mistake of the burning cabin had ordered it extinguished; but this could not be done without the workmen being exposed to the fire from the blacks’ citadel. So there was nothing to do save to wait until the shanty had burned down. The dry pine was flaming brightly now, and lit up the scene with a crimson glare. The great rocks and the rugged mountain-side, with patches of light here and there contrasting with the deeper shadows, loomed up threatening and terrible, and the fact that behind those boulders lay armed men thirsty for blood made the scene no less horrible. In his cabin, farther up the mountain side, Jason Andrews had heard the shouts and firing, seen the glare of the burning cabin through his window, and interpreted it aright. He rose and threw on his coat. “Jason,” said his wife, “don’t go down there. It’s none of your business.” “I’m not going down there, Kate,” he said; “but I know my duty and have got to do it.” The nearest telegraph office was a mile away from his cabin. Thither Jason hurried. He entered, and, seizing a blank, began to write rapidly, when he was interrupted by the voice of the operator, “It’s no use, Andrews, the wires are cut.” The foreman stopped as if he had been struck; then, wheeling around, he started for the door just as Crofton came rushing in. “Ah, Andrews, it’s you, is it?—and before me. Have you telegraphed for troops?” “It’s no use, Mr. Crofton, the wires are cut.” “My God!” exclaimed the young man, “what is to be done? I did not think they would go to this length.” “We must reach the next station and wire from there.” “But it’s fifteen miles away on a road where a man is liable to break his neck at any minute.” “I’ll risk it, but I must have a horse.” “Take mine. He’s at the door,—God speed you.” With the word, Jason was in the saddle and away like the wind. “He can’t keep that pace on the bad ground,” said young Crofton, as he turned homeward. At the centre of strife all was still quiet. The fire had burned low, and what remained of it cast only a dull light around. The assailants began to prepare again for action.