"They might try something, but I doubt it. There's some heathenish nonsense about their having to die in the daylight so they can see their way to the spirit land. But--and I'll bet on it--we haven't seen the last of them. Think one of us should try slipping out to Camp Axton tonight?" "It's a pretty long chance, what with so many of them being out there. We can hang on for one more day. The day after tomorrow's the fifteenth, and the chaplain and some soldiers are coming from Axton anyway. No sense in being foolish if we don't have to." "That makes sense," Winterson conceded. "Well, I'll go rest my eyes on some of your scenery again. Might get a shot." All through the long afternoon nothing appeared, and the women prepared and served dinner in the last lingering hour of twilight. They ate, while the embers of the dying fire cast a ghostly glow into the room. Again Joe wondered if this were actually real. None of it fitted his preconceived notions of an Indian fight, with bullets flying thick and fast and deeds of derring-do. So far not a dozen shots had been fired. Then he glanced soberly at Ellis's bandaged head. It was real enough. They took the mattresses from the beds and laid them on the floor. Sleepy, and somewhat bored, the children curled up where bullets could not reach them. Joe walked back to his post at the window, and he saw a thin sickle of a moon hanging as though from invisible wires in the sky. It shed a faint light, and Joe stiffened when he saw an Indian crawling up to the cabin. But closer scrutiny proved that it was only a shadow. "Haven't seen a thing!" Tad wailed. "Do you suppose they'll come tonight, Pa?" "I don't know. Hadn't you better knock off for a while and get some sleep?" Winterson called softly, "Joe." Joe went to the front of the house, and down at the stable he saw a flickering, tiny light. It grew, and within seconds it was a leaping fire. Joe felt his body grow taut, and fury mounted to new heights. But he could do nothing except stand helplessly by and watch. "The stock won't be there," Winterson assured him. "The devils'll run that off with them." "I--" Joe gritted. "I know what you're thinking. You don't have to say it." They watched the fire grow and heard its crackling, and the entire space between the house and stable was lighted by it. Sparks floated skyward and winked out. Fire broke through the shake roof, and transformed it into seething, liquid flame. Then the roof fell in and there was a vast shower of sparks. "They're real playful," Winterson commented. "Real nice people." "Where's the wagon?" Joe asked. "What did you say?" "They've taken the wagon!" Winterson grunted, "They'll take anything they can lay their hands on." Joe walked back to the rear window and stared into the darkness. He had not slept but he was not sleepy. Flaring rage still consumed him, and he peered intently at every shadow.