The House of the Falcon
still blazing and crackling away above the courtyard, shedding a bloodlike flood of illumination over the natives who were struggling to haul down the poles supporting the flares and extinguish them. The men worked hastily, with one eye on the tower.
Donovan looked for Abbas and Monsey; but the masters of the Kurgan were keeping well without the range of fire from the summit. Meanwhile the horses had fallen into a semi-panic at the blazing masses near their backs and were tugging at their halters, while some Tartars struggled to secure them. This light had given opportunity to Iskander to organize a sniping fire from the branches of trees on the further side of the plateau.
"Oh, do you think it will hurt these—these Alamans and the rest?" inquired Edith interestedly. She felt impelled to call attention to the brief advantage which her strategy had secured for the Sayaks. "Surely these horrid men are worried by our being in the tower and by this shooting"
Donovan, intent on the panorama of the fight, unconsciously dropped his mask of cheerfulness.
"Hardly, I think, Edith. That long-range fire has little effect. And when the flares are out, the horses will soon quiet down; then we won't be able to see anything that happens."
The girl was struck by the abrupt moodiness of his words, understanding, however, that it was on her account and not his own that the Englishman was troubled. Shyly, she nestled her hand in his, which closed on it firmly.
Realizing that his enemies would soon be in darkness, Donovan jerked his rifle to pick off some while he could still see to do so. Then he sighed. Cartridges
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