"We've no food and very little water," said Nicole. "They could just wait us out and we wouldn't last very long." The only water they had was in buckets the townspeople had brought into the blockhouse with them. David Cooper said, "We've got to be ready for them to make one big rush for the blockhouse. They'll try to set the place on fire, so we better save as much water as we can. Ration it out." Nicole's body broke out in a cold sweat at the thought of fire; she remembered all the gunpowder they'd relayed into the blockhouse. _Enough to blow us all up._ And then she remembered too, what had happened to Helene twenty years ago at Fort Dearborn. _Maybe being blown to bits would be a better way to go._ "And here's just the man to take charge of rationing the water," said Cooper. Nicole turned to see her father climbing up the stairs, pulling himself along on the banister and leaning on his walking stick. As he reached the top of the stairs Frank took his arm and helped him over to sit on a wooden box near the rifle port. Elysee said, "One of the women, Mrs. Russell, insisted on taking my rifle and standing guard in my place. I will be just as happy not to have to fire at any red men for a while. I keep thinking I might shoot Auguste." Nicole gasped. "Auguste! Papa, he would never be out there." "Perhaps not. Have you spoken to anyone who had news of my grandchildren?" Elysee asked her. Nicole was about to say "They're all here" when she realized whom he meant. "Raoul and Clarissa's children?" She shook her head sadly. "No, Papa. Anyone from Victoire who isn't here--we don't know what happened to them." Elysee sighed. "Poor little things. In all the years since they were born, I got to speak to them only once or twice." The cry of "Here the Injuns come!" broke in on them again. David Cooper gave Elysee brief instructions on rationing water, and the old man limped downstairs as the firing began again. Nicole, loading and reloading Frank's rifles with numb arms and mind, heard firing from all around her. The Indians were coming from every direction. Arrows and an occasional bullet whistled in through the ports, but no one was hit. Smoke drifted through the second story of the blockhouse, making her eyes water. The Indians withdrew again. As the firing died down, Nicole was thankful to see that the powder smoke that had filled the second floor blew up toward the roof and vanished. Looking up, she saw that there was a space nearly a foot high between the top of the log wall and the roof. The roof rested on big vertical timbers, its overhang covering the opening. Men could climb up there, she supposed, and shoot down; the attackers would have to be standing directly below them to shoot back.