It's our one chance. It may
frighten the devils--they think he's a god. I believe he is, curse
him!" All the time, he had been piling furniture against the door with
a mad and feverish energy. "Help me! Help me!" he screamed. "Why don't
you help? Do you want to be killed like sheep?"
Lois drew him back by the arm.
"You are wasting time," she said firmly. "Come with us! Why, you are
hurt!"
He looked at the thin stream which trickled down the soiled white of
his coat. A silly smile flickered over his big face.
"Oh, yes, a scratch. I hardly feel it. It isn't anything. It can't be
anything. There's nothing vital thereabouts, is there, Berry?"
The missionary shrugged his shoulders. He had flung open the glass
doors which led on to the verandah, and the brightening dawn flooded
in upon them.
"Come and help me carry this poor lady," he said. "We have not a
minute to lose."
Travers tried to obey, but he had no strength, and the other thrust
him impatiently on one side.
"Mrs. Carmichael, you are a strong woman," he appealed. Between them
they managed to bring Mrs. Cary's heavy, unconscious frame down the
steps. It was a nerve-trying task, for their progress was of necessity
a slow one, and the sound of the desperate fighting seemed to surround
them on every side. It was with a feeling of intense relief that the
little party saw Nicholson appear from amidst the trees and run toward
them.
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