SMOKING OUT THE ENEMY. 279 



The prisoners congratulated themselves on their security, and 

 again seating themselves on the cordage, renewed their council, 

 and even jested upon the futile attempts of their enemies. An 

 hour or more had passed away in most perfect quietness, and 

 saving the occasional visits to the loop-holes of the tower, Lou had 

 relapsed into a dreamy state of half wakefulness, while her uncle, 

 with the caution of years, sat close to the door-way with his duck 

 gun across his knee, and his ear to the crack. 



"Don't you smell something strange, uncle?" said the girl, 

 after a pause. 



" No," whispered the old man. " What like ? " 



" I thought I smelt wood burning. What is that I see on the 

 floor?" 



Her uncle looked down on what seemed a carpet of lamb's 

 wool, white and flaky, gradually spreading itself over the floor. 

 Laidlaw leaned down his face until he could look out through the 

 crack beneath the door. Then raising up his head suddenly, he 

 stared at his niece, exclaiming in a whisper — " They have set fire 

 to the door." 



There was a long pause, and the two prisoners gazed at each 

 other in silence. As they sat they could hear from without the 

 crackle of the flames as they gathered volume, and then at inter- 

 vals the whoop of the savages in mocking tones. 



The thoughts that chased each other through the minds of the 

 prisoners were stern and hurried. There was no water or other 

 means of putting out the fire, and even had there been it was on 

 the outside of the door and constantly supplied with fuel by the 

 savages. In a little while the flames became perceptible through 

 the crevices of the door as the panelling shrunk from the heat. 

 The knots fell out, and through the openings left they could see 

 the savages passing and repassing. Lou's mind likened them to 

 devils in the flame of the pit, and her soul went up in an un- 

 syllabled prayer for deliverance from a death to which only 

 the torments of the lost bore any likeness. 



Had Laidlaw been a man like the men that the wild scenes of 

 those days often engendered, he would have been plotting against 

 the savages, or at least been prepared for this emergency and 



