The evil tidings rapidly spread, and even before it reached the chief the line began to waver, and fall back toward the camp. Spite fell into a towering rage when the message was brought to him. He cursed Madam Breeze. He cursed the Pixie who stopped the messenger, and thus caused the bad news to spread. He cursed Bruce and the Brownies. He cursed his own eyes, also, although he might have saved himself that trouble, for they had never been a blessing to anybody. "But cursing won't mend matters, Chief," said Lieutenant Hide. "The fort still stands; we can fall back to that, and save what we may." "Drummer, sound the retreat," cried Spite; "and Hide, do you fall back with the right wing to the fort. Orderly, bid Lieutenant Heady take command and cover the retreat. Tell him to fight every inch of ground." Then Spite turned upon his heels and hurried to the rear. In truth, he was not sorry for an excuse to withdraw from the fight. He stumbled over the ruins of the camp at every step. It was a complete wreck. Not a tent, not a building of any kind remained, except the fort, to which he bent his course. It was a huge structure, as we have seen, braced and strengthened by every art and effort at the Pixies' command. But Spite's heart failed him as he looked around, and saw how everything else in camp had vanished away before the mighty breath of his adversaries. "See!" he exclaimed, "Madam Breeze and her train have just attacked the fort. Will it hold out, I wonder?" With this thought in mind he hurried forward. Keener saw him coming, and recognized him at once. "There comes Spite the Spy!" he shouted. "At him, boys! let us toss him in one of his own sticky blankets!" "Aye, aye," answered Whisk, "suppose we fling him over the horns of the moon, and let him--" "Let him stick there," cried Whirlit, finishing the sentence. Whereat the trio pounced pell-mell upon the Pixie chief. "Very well, my lads," exclaimed Madam Breeze, "you're quite welcome to a monopoly of the old beast. Phooh! How he smells of poison! He well nigh takes my breath. Fort smashing suits me better." With these words she threw herself against the Agalena wing of Fort Spinder. Every cord and canvas in it shook with the violence of the onset. But it was unbroken. Again and again the stout Elf cast herself against the walls; the cords creaked and seemed about to part, but so elastic were they that they swayed inward with a heavy surge and then back again. The weeds, blades of grass and twigs to which the ropes and beams were fastened bent under the weight of the blast, but were unbroken.