Elspeth and Ringan were there, and the two trappers had just returned.
I could do nothing but pant on the ground, but Shalah cried out for
news of Grey. He heard that he had gone into the woods with his musket
two hours past. At this he flung up his hands with a motion of despair.
"We cannot wait," he said to Ringan. "Close the gate and put every man
to his post, for the danger is at hand."
Ringan gave his orders. The big log gate was barred, the fire trampled
out, and we waited in that thunderous darkness. A long draught of cold
water had revived me, and I could think clearly of Elspeth. Her bower
was in the safest part of the stockade, but she would not stay there, I
could see terror in her eyes, but she gave no sign of it. She made
ready our supper of cold meat as if she had no other thought in the
world.
Waiting on an attack is a hard trial for mortal nerves. I am not
ashamed to confess that in those minutes my courage was little to boast
of. I envied Ringan his ease, and Bertrand his light cheerfulness, and
Donaldson his unshaken gravity, and especially I envied Shalah his
godlike calm. But most of all I envied Elspeth the courage which could
know desperate fear and never show it. Most likely I did myself some
wrong.
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