She was reloading her flintlock with deft and steady hands. The girl, who had hitherto obeyed instructions like one dazed, stood irresolute in the center of the room, gazing from door to cradle, and back again. A tomahawk struck the door, came halfway through, and stuck, quivering. “They’re too many of ’em, they’ll get in,” groaned Granny, shaking her fist at it. “But don’t give up, _whatever happens to me_--you hear? I can delay them awhile, maybe. You take the bread knife and fight for your life, Polly Todd--for more than your life, remember! Laugh, scream like one crazed--they spare mad folk sometimes. Fight ’em off tooth and nail, till help comes. Remember why! Your husband, the child----” Step by step, Polly had moved toward the door. Over her shoulder she watched the old woman, who was at the window, her back turned, sighting for another shot. Her lip was drawn up so that the teeth showed. She shivered, slid the bars, and opened the door. Indians slipped past her and leaped upon the old woman. Polly screamed: “No! Grandmother, _look out_! No!” The last of the Indians to enter was a tall young chieftain, wearing a bonnet of gray eagle’s feathers. He lifted his hand with a gesture of quiet dignity, and spoke slowly and gravely: “We know of old this white woman--her years and courage. Do not fear for her.” * * * * * He faced Polly in silence, a stately, splendid young creature in blanket and loin cloth, painted as to face and body, but not for war. His was the regalia of a bridegroom. The girl sat by the cradle in an attitude of complete submission, hands folded, head bowed. Meanwhile Granny battled desperately with the Indians who held her, grinning. They bound her hands behind her, forced her down upon a stool, tying her feet to its legs, but never hurting her. She did not cease for a moment her maledictions. “You vile devils! You thieves, you murderers! Wait til’ my grandson catches you! Steal what you can find--there’s food, gear, money--but let you lay so much as a finger on that girl or her child, and he’ll get you if he has to go to hell for you. Ezra!” she screamed suddenly. “Help! Help! Take your dirty hand out of my mouth, you fiend! You’ll not stop me yelling until you kill me. Ezra-ah-h!” They gagged her with her own knitting, but still she strained at her thongs, spluttering, glaring, cursing them with her fierce eyes. The Indians laughed among themselves. One said: “Old Long-knife squaw heap big fighting brave--ugh!” They began to run about rapidly, picking up everything in sight, always with a cautious eye on Gray Eagle, however. One tied an apron around his waist, so that it hung down behind; one spied the moccasins Polly had sewed for Ezra, and appropriated them with a grunt of satisfaction; another seized the bread knife, and made a pass with it at the old woman, who did not wince. The chieftain spoke at last, gravely: “The Moon-maid has waited for me?”