They are sure to light the pile this
time, but if it is only fired in one place you may possibly dash
out the light with a stone."
The lights rapidly approached, but when the bearers came within
forty yards they stopped. They were a wild group, as, with their
unkempt hair and beards, and their rough attire, they stood holding
the lighted brands above their heads. A very tall and powerful man
stood at their head.
"Come on," he said, "why do you hesitate? Let us finish with them."
And he rushed forward.
Malcolm had his pistol lying on the sill of the loophole covering
him, and when the peasant had run ten paces he fired, and the man
fell headlong. The others stopped, and a second shot took effect
among them. With a yell of terror they hurled the brands towards
the pile and fled. Most of the brands fell short, others missed
their aim, but from his loophole Malcolm saw that one had fallen
on to the outside faggot of the pile.
Almost instantly a heavy stone fell in the snow close by, another,
and another. Malcolm stood with his eyes fixed on the brand. The
twigs against which it leaned were catching, and the flames began
to shoot up. Higher and higher they rose, and a shout of triumph
from the peasants told how keenly they were also watching. Still
the heavy stones continued to fall. The flames rose higher, and
half the faggot was now alight.
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