She saw a loop of rope fly through the air above the eastern wall and catch on one of the sharpened logs. A moment later a dark head crowned with feathers appeared above the palisade. And Burke Russell was looking the other way. "Burke, look out!" Pamela screamed. Burke heard that. He swung around, raising his rifle to his shoulder. "Please, God!" Nicole cried. The Indian leaped over the parapet. He seemed twice as tall as Burke, with bulging muscles that gleamed with oil. He wore only a loincloth, and his walnut-brown body was painted with red, yellow and black stripes. His scalplock flew out behind him as he rushed Burke, swinging a war club with a glittering metal spike protruding from its thick end. Burke's rifle went off with an orange flash, a boom, a cloud of smoke. The Indian wasn't stopped. The war club came down on Burke's head. Nicole heard the hollow thud and heard herself cry out. Pamela screamed. "Oh, no, oh God, no! Burke! Burke!" Burke's glasses flew from his face, hit the catwalk and caromed off to the ground. With his free hand the Indian giant seized the rifle as Burke crumpled. He raised both arms over his head, rifle in one hand, bloodstained club in the other, and shouted his triumph. Nicole's stomach heaved. Pamela fell against her, fainting. She threw an arm around Pamela and eased her to the ground, and she saw half a dozen more Indians waving rifles and tomahawks leap over the eastern parapet and land on the catwalk near Burke Russell's body. "Frank! Behind you!" she screamed. Frank turned, took aim and fired at the Indians. He ran for the nearest corner tower. Nicole didn't see whether he hit any of the Indians. She dragged Pamela out of the doorway with the help of Ellen Slattery, the blacksmith's wife. They got Pamela sitting on a bench by the wall. Her thick chestnut hair tumbled forward as Nicole pushed her head down to revive her. _I don't know why I'm doing this. It's a mercy she's unconscious._ _Frank!_ Her heart in her throat, Nicole pushed herself to her feet and ran back to the door. An arrow whizzed through the open doorway. It clanged off the iron muzzle of the cannon that stood in the center of the blockhouse hall. _I'd make a mighty big target for those Indians_, she thought, the wry little joke helping to keep her from crying in her terror. She peered around the edge of the doorway to see a fury of brown bodies on the southern catwalk where Frank had been standing. In the center of the catwalk, one brave with a rooster's comb of red-dyed hair shouted and brandished a steel-headed tomahawk, sending parties to hammer at the doors of the corner towers with clubs, tomahawks and rifle butts. Black rings painted around his eyes and yellow slashes on his cheekbones gave him a terrifying look. Even in the midst of her fear and hatred she could see that his body was magnificent. The most beautiful man's body she'd ever seen.