Thus far they had not shown themselves or fired a shot,
but now a movement was perceived on the roof, and the projecting arms
of some kind of machinery became visible. Many marksmen concentrated
their fire upon the mysterious objects, but apparently with little
effect. Bings, mounted on a rock, so as to command a clear view of the
field, was on the point, of ordering a party to rush forward with axes
and beat down the formidable doors, when there came a blinding flash
from the roof, something swished through the air, and a gust of heat
met the assailants in the face. Bings dropped dead from his perch, and
then, as if the scythe of the Destroyer had swung downward, and to
right and left in quick succession, the close-packed mob was levelled,
rank after rank, until the few survivors crept behind rocks for
refuge.
Instantly the atmospheric broom swept up and down the canyon and
across the mountain's flanks, and the marksmen fell in bunches like
shaken grapes. Nine-tenths of the besiegers were destroyed within ten
minutes after the first movement had been noticed on the roof.
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