Page 228 - A Jacobite Exile

"This is awful, Stanislas. I do not think we can last on till morning."

"I begin to have doubts myself, sir. Perhaps it would be better to leap down
and make a fight of it."

"We might shoot some of them first," Charlie said. "How many charges
have you?"

"I have only two, besides one in the barrel."

"And I have only three," Charlie said. "Powder has run very short. The
captain was saying, yesterday, that we must send to the village and try to

get some more. Still, six shots will help us."

"Not much, sir. There must be thirty or forty of them now. I have seen
some come from the other way. I suppose they were part of the pack that
followed the horses."

Charlie sat for some time thinking. Then he exclaimed:

"I think this is a dead tree."

"It is, sir. I noticed it when we climbed up. The head has gone, and I think it
must have been struck with lightning last summer."

"Then I think we can manage."

"Manage what, sir?" the man asked in surprise.

"Manage to make a fire, Stanislas. First of all, we will crawl out towards
the ends of the branches as far as we can get, and break off twigs and small
boughs. If we can't get enough, we can cut chips off, and we will pile them

all where these three big boughs branch off from the trunk. We have both
our tinderboxes with us, and I see no reason why we should not be able to

light a fire up here."