But nothing more came down it, and there were no more sounds of warriors walking on the roof.
The three who had come had been daring men, but they had paid the price.
The shots and shouts around continued for a little space, forms dashed heavily against the door, and then, as suddenly as it began, the tumult ceased.
Paul felt a chill of horror creeping through his bones.

It was all so ghastly.

The dead warriors lay, each upon his back, one among the dead coals, and Paul could hear nothing but his own and Henry's heavy breathing.
"It was a daring thing to do," said Henry at last, "to come down the chimney that way; but it has been done before in Kentucky." Then they reloaded their rifles, but Paul was like one in a dream.

It seemed to him now that he could not endure the long hours in the cabin with those dead faces on the floor staring at him with their dead eyes.
"Henry," he said, "we can't keep them here." "No," replied Henry, "we can't; but we must wait a little." Paul sat down on the bench.

He felt for a moment faint and sick.