And so, wounding their pursuers, yet tracked always by more and ever more, they had come to the landing, where by aid of the rifle barrel as a lever they had been able to bring a whole wall crashing down, to choke the passage. That had brought silence. For a time, at least, pursuit had been abandoned. In the sliding, dusty avalanche of the wall, hurled down the stairway, Stern knew by the grunts and shrieks which had arisen that some of the Horde had surely perished—how many, he could not tell. A score or two at the very least, he ardently hoped.
Fear, at any rate, had been temporarily injected into the rest. For the attack had not yet been renewed. Outside in the forest, no sign of the Horde, no sound. A disconcerting, ominous calm had settled like a pall. Even the birds, recovered from their terrors, had begun to hop about and take up their twittering little household tasks.
As in a kind of clairvoyance, the engineer seemed to know there would be respite until night. For a little while, at least, there could be rest and peace. But when darkness should have settled down—
“If they’d only show themselves!” thought he, his leaden eyes closing in an overmastering lassitude, a vast swooning weakness of blood-loss and exhaustion. Not even his parched thirst, a veritable torture now, could keep his thoughts from wandering. “If they’d tackle again, I could score with—with lead—what’s that I’m thinking? I’m not delirious, am I?”
For a moment he brought himself back with a start, back to a full realization of the place. But again the drowsiness gained on him.
“We’ve got guns now; guns and ammunition,” thought he. “We—could pick them off—from the windows. Pick them—off—pick—them—off—”
He slept. Thus, often, wounded soldiers sleep, with troubled dreams, on the verge of renewed battle which may mean their death, their long and wakeless slumber.
He slept. And the girl, laying his gashed head gently back upon the pile of furs, bent over him with infinite compassion. For a long minute, hardly breathing, she watched him there. More quickly came her breath. A strange new light shone in her eyes.
“Only for me, those wounds!” she whispered slowly. “Only for me!”
Taking his head in both her hands, she kissed him as he lay unconscious. Kissed him twice, and then a third time.
Then she arose.
Quickly, as though with some definite plan, she chose from among their store of utensils a large copper kettle, one which he had brought her the week before from the little Broadway shop.
She took a long rawhide rope, braided by Stern during their long evenings together. This she knotted firmly to the bale of the kettle.
The revolvers, fully reloaded, she examined with care. One of them she laid beside the sleeper. The other she slid into her full, warm bosom, where the clinging tiger skin held it ready for her hand.
Then she walked noiselessly to the door leading into the hallway.
Here for a moment she stood, looking back at the wounded man. Tears dimmed her eyes, yet they were very glad.
“For your sake, now, everything!” she said. “Everything—all! Oh, Allan, if you only knew! And now—good- by!”
Then she was gone.
And in the silent room, their home, which out of wreck and chaos they had made, the fevered man lay very still, his pulses throbbing in his throat.
Outside, very far, very faint in the forests, a muffled drum began to beat again.
And the slow shadows, lengthening across the floor, told that evening was drawing nigh.
CHAPTER XXVII. TO WORK!
THE engineer awoke with a start—awoke to find daylight gone, to find that dusk had settled, had shrouded the whole place in gloom.
Confused, he started up. He was about to call out, when prudence muted his voice. For the moment he could not recollect just what had happened or where he was; but a vast impending consciousness of evil and of danger weighed upon him. It warned him to keep still, to make no outcry. A burning thirst quickened his memory.
Then his comprehension returned. Still weak and shaken, yet greatly benefited by his sleep, he took a few steps toward the door. Where was the girl? Was he alone? What could all this mean?
“Beatrice! Oh, Beatrice!” he called thickly, in guarded tones. “Where are you? Answer me!”
“Here—coming!” he heard her voice. And then he saw her, dimly, in the doorway.
“What is it? Where have you been? How long have I been asleep?”
She did not answer his questions, but came quickly to him, took his hand, and with her own smoothed his brow.
“Better, now?” asked she.
“Lots! I’ll be all right in a little while. It’s nothing. But what have you been doing all this time?”
“Come, and I’ll show you.” She led him toward the other room.
He followed, in growing wonder.
“No attack, yet?”
“None. But the drums have been beating for a long time now. Hear that?”
They listened. To them drifted a dull, monotonous sound, harbinger of war.
Stern laughed bitterly, chokingly, by reason of his thirst.
“Much good their orchestra will do them,” said he, “when it comes to facing soft-nosed .38’s! But tell me, what was it you were going to show me?”
Quickly she went over to their crude table, took up a dish and came back to him.
“Drink this!” bade she.
He took it, wondering.
“What? Coffee? But—”
“Drink! I’ve had mine, already. Drink!”
Half-stupefied, he obeyed. He drained the whole dish at a draft, then caught his breath in a long sigh.
“But this means water!” cried he, with renewed vigor. “And—?”
“Look here,” she directed, pointing. There on the circular hearth stood the copper kettle, three-quarters full.
“Water! You’ve got water?” He started forward in amazement. “While I’ve been sleeping? Where—?”
She laughed with real enjoyment.
“It’s nothing,” she disclaimed. “After what you’ve done for me, this is the merest trifle, Allan. You know that big cavity made by the boiler-explosion? Yes? Well, when we looked down into it, before we ventured out to the spring, I noticed a good deal of water at the bottom, stagnant water, that had run out of the boiler and settled on the hard clay floor and in among the cracked cement. I just merely brought up some, and strained and boiled it, that’s all. So you see—”
“But, my Lord!” burst out the man, “d’you mean to say you—you went down there—alone?”
Once more the girl laughed.
“Not alone,” she answered. “One of the automatics was kind enough to bear me company. Of course the main stairway was impassable. But I found another way, off through the east end of the building and down some stairs we haven’t used at all, yet. They may be useful, by the way, in case of—well—a retreat. Once I’d reached the arcade, the rest was easy. I had that leather rope tied to the kettle handle, you see. So all I had to do was —”
“But the Horde! The Horde?”
“None of them down there, now—that is, alive. None when I was there. All at the war-council, I imagine. I just happened to strike it right, you see. It wasn’t anything. We simply had to have water, so I went and got some,
