Malcolm descended the stairs until
he reached the lowest loophole which lighted them, and which was
a few feet above the top of the door. He took one of the men with
him.
"Here are my flask and bullet pouch," he said. "Do you reload my
pistols as I discharge them."
For some minutes the sound of the faggots being thrown down continued,
then the footsteps were heard retreating, and all was quiet again.
"Now it is our turn again," Malcolm said. "It is one thing to
prepare a fire and another to light it, my fine fellows. I expect
that you have forgotten that there are firearms here."
Presently a light was seen in the distance, and two men with blazing
brands approached. They advanced confidently until within twenty
yards of the tower, then there was the sharp crack of a pistol,
and one of them fell forward on his face, the other hesitated and
stood irresolute, then, summoning up courage, he sprang forward.
As he did so another shot flashed out, and he, too, fell prostrate,
the brand hissing and spluttering in the snow a few feet from the
pile of brushwood. A loud yell of rage and disappointment arose
on the night air, showing how large was the number of peasants who
were watching the operations. Some time elapsed before any further
move was made on the part of the assailants, then some twenty points
of light were seen approaching.
"Donald," Malcolm said to the soldier, "go up to the top of the
tower with your comrades.
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