At the foot of the stairs the Indian lay still, and
Frascuelo tried to rise. She helped him gladly. The awfulness of this
killing no longer appalled her. Each dead or disabled Indian was one
less obstacle between her and Courtenay. A third time the revolver
barked, but Christobal missed. It did not matter greatly, as
Tollemache had shortened his bar, using it twice as a miner delves at a
rock. But the doctor did not forget that he had only three cartridges
left, two of which were bespoke long before the fight began.
At last, then, the way was clear. Elsie would have mounted the stairs
but an appealing hand detained her.
"I cannot walk, senorita. My leg has given way. And we can do no good
there. They are all down."
A death chill gripped her heart at Frascuelo's words.
"All down!" she repeated, white-lipped.
"I think so," said he, blankly. The man was dazed by the ordeal
through which he had passed.
As if to answer and refute him, Joey's hysterical yelp sounded from a
point close at hand, and they distinctly heard Courtenay's loud command:
"This way, Boyle! Rally to the bridge!"
"You are mistaken!" shrieked Elsie, wrenching herself free from the
Chilean's grasp.
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