"About twenty of them, I should say, and we could rely upon beating them off; but no doubt there are parties told off to the attack of all the outlying settlers, and when the others have done their work they may gather here." "Where are they now?" Wilfrid asked as he gazed into the darkness. "I fancy they are behind that shed over there. They are no doubt arranging their plan of attack. I expect they will try fire. There! do you see? That is the flash of a match." A minute later a light was seen to rise behind the shed, and there was the sound of breaking wood. The light grew brighter and brighter. "They will be coming soon," Mr. Atherton said. "Do not throw away a shot. The shingles on this roof are as dry as tinder, and if a burning brand falls on them the place will be in a blaze in five minutes. Now!" As he spoke a number of natives, each carrying a flaming brand, appeared from behind the wood shed. The three rifles cracked out, and as many natives fell. The farmer began to reload his rifle, while Mr. Atherton and Wilfrid handed theirs to Mrs. Renshaw, who at that moment joined them, and opened fire with their revolvers. Only two of Wilfrid's shots told, but Mr. Atherton's aim was as steady as when firing at a mark. Two of the natives fell, and four others, throwing down their brands, ran back wounded to the shelter of the wood shed. Their companions, after a moment's hesitation, followed their example. There were now but six unwounded men out of the twenty who attacked the house. "There is one of them off for assistance!" Wilfrid exclaimed as he caught sight of a figure running at full speed from the shed. In another moment he was lost in the darkness. "Now is the time for us to make our escape," Mr. Atherton said, turning from the window. "We have succeeded so far, but there may be three times as many next time, and we must be off. We will get out by a window at the back of the house and try and make our way across country to the Mahia tribe. We shall be safe there." "But Wilfrid cannot walk a hundred yards," Mrs. Renshaw said. "Then we must carry him," Mr. Atherton replied cheerfully. "He is no great weight, and we can make a litter when we get far enough away. Take a loaf of bread, Mrs. Sampson, a bottle or two of water, and a flask of spirits. You will find one full on my table. Please hurry up, for there is not a moment to lose. I will stay here to the last moment and fire an occasional shot at the shed to let them know that we are still here."