He was out of the hut, with Sebastian, and running. A man with big white teeth which glittered like dominoes, rose out of a bush like an evil fairy and struck at him violently with a long, curved hook. He felt the iron bar in his hand whirl down and hit something that smashed like a loaded egg and jarred his wrist. He stumbled and fell. There was shouting in his ears and a pop-pop-pop of musketry abruptly silenced. He caught a glimpse of their lugubrious jailer-corporal jabbing furiously at something behind a tree. Mr. Cave bellowed a command--an even voice that Andrew knew called orders in reply. Something that hummed like a wasp snipped a twig from a bough in front of his face--he jerked and went into an irrigation ditch with a smacking splash--behind him somebody was screaming "Oh, Jesus, oh, Jesus, oh, Jesus!" in a high, affronted whine--now Sebastian was pulling him out of the ditch and they were running again. Then, abruptly, he was dragged into a dark pocket between two buildings while a dozen men whose leader carried a truss of blazing straw on a pole went by at a trot. "Where are we?" he wheezed, lungs laboring. He discovered, with surprise, that the iron bar was still in his hand. The other end of it dripped. "They've missed us," said Sebastian. "Too busy--up there--" He too was panting, but furiously busy, ramming home a charge in a musket he had somehow acquired. "Where did"--began Andrew, staring at it, dazedly. "Fool with a cap," panted Sebastian. It seemed sufficient explanation. "Look," he said, "Fire." Andrew peeped around the corner of the building. They were still much nearer the guardhouse than he had supposed. On one hand the moon lit the scene with precise, bleak radiance, on the other, a little hut, to the right of the guardhouse, was burning like a spill of paper with fierce, brief flame. Mr. Cave and his men had taken such cover as storehouse and trees afforded. He could see them swarming in the shadows like uneasy flies. On the lit and open ground between them and the guardhouse lay a number of broken dolls in attitudes of discomfort. One had on a red coat and lifted up an arm now, to let it drop again as if it were too heavy. There were various cries. Andrew caught his breath. Dr. Gentian could not have more than a couple of men with him in the guardhouse now. Mr. Cave must have fifty at least. Yet Mr. Cave and his men had not been able to cross that little stretch of open, moonlit ground. True, the besieged were poorly armed and the besiegers had every advantage of shelter, but even so....