“It ’pears to be all right,” mused Dinah, “but folks can’t be too keerful at sich times–sh! what dat?”
Her ears, which were as keen as those of her friends, heard a suspicious noise overhead. It was faint, but unmistakable. The startling truth could not be doubted: one of the Comanches, if not more, was on the roof!
“If dat isn’t shameful,” she muttered, failing to apprise her mistress of the alarming discovery; “I wander what he can be after up dar–de Lor’ a massy!”
The last shock was caused by a scratching which showed that the intruder was trying to lift up the scuttle.
Evidently the Indians had made themselves as familiar with Captain Shirril’s domicile as they could without entering it. They had noticed the scuttle, and the possibility that it might be unfastened led one of them to climb undetected to the roof to make sure about it.
“Dat onmannerly warmint knows dat dat door am right over my room,” muttered the indignant Dinah; “and instead ob comin’ in by de reg’lar way, as a gemman orter do, he’s gwine to try to steal in frough de roof. When I get done wid him,” she added, with rising wrath, “he’ll know better nor dat.”
Still Mrs. Shirril kept her place in her own apartment, where she was striving so hard to learn something, by peering through and listening at one of her windows, that she noticed nothing else, though, as yet, the noise was so slight that it would have escaped the ears of Dinah herself, had she not been quite near it.
The colored woman groped around in the dark until her hand rested upon the only chair in the apartment. This she noiselessly placed under the scuttle, and stepped upon it with the same extreme care.
Her position was now such that had the door been open and she standing upright, her head, shoulders, and a part of her waist would have been above the roof. She had leaned her gun against the side of the chair, so that, if needed, it was within quick reach. Then she assumed a stooping posture, with her head gently touching the underside of the door, and, steadying herself by grasping the iron hook, she stood motionless and listening.
“Yes, he’s dar!” was her instant conclusion, “and de wiper is tryin’ to onfasten de skylight ob my obpartment.”
Dinah’s many years spent in this wild region had given her a knowledge that she could not have gained otherwise. She knew that so long as the Comanche contented himself with trying to open the scuttle, nothing was to be feared; but, baffled in that, he was not likely to drop to the ground again without attempting more serious mischief, and that serious mischief could take only the single dreaded form of setting fire to the building.
It seems almost beyond belief, but it is a fact that this colored woman determined on defeating the purpose of the redskin, by the most audacious means at the command of anyone. She resolved to climb out on the roof and assail the Comanche.
Since she knew her mistress would peremptorily forbid anything of the kind, she cunningly took all the means at her command to prevent her plan becoming known to Mrs. Shirril, until it should be too late for her to interfere.
Stepping gently down to the floor, she moved the few steps necessary to reach the door opening into the other room, and which had not been closed.
“Is you dar, Mrs. Shirril?” she asked in a whisper.
“Yes, Dinah,” came the guarded response; “don’t bother me for a few minutes; I want to watch and listen.”
“All right; dat suits me,” muttered the servant with a chuckle, as she closed the door with the utmost care.
Everything seemed to favor the astounding purpose of the brave African, who again stepped upon the chair, though in her first confusion she narrowly missed overturning it, and brought her head against the scuttle.
She was disappointed at first, because she heard nothing, but a moment’s listening told her that her visitor was still on deck, or rather on the roof. The fact that, after finding he could not effect an entrance, he still stayed, made it look as if he was meditating mischief of the very nature so much feared.
In accordance with her daring scheme, Dinah now softly slipped the hook from its fastening, holding it between her fingers for a moment before doing anything more. Had the Comanche known how matters stood, a quick upward flirt on his part, even though the hold was slight, would have flung the door flat on the roof and opened the way to the interior of the Texan’s cabin.
But not knowing nor suspecting anything of the kind, he did not make the attempt.
With no more tremor of the nerve than she would have felt in trying to kill a fly, Dinah softly pushed up the door for an inch at its outermost edge. This gave her a view of the roof on the side in front, with a shortened survey of the portion still nearer.
Her eyes were keen, but they detected nothing of the Comanche who was prowling about the scuttle only a few moments before. The darkness was not dense enough to prevent her seeing to the edge of the roof on all sides, had her view been unobstructed. Could she have dared to throw back the door, and raise her head above the peak of the roof, she could have traced the outlines of the eaves in every direction.
But she was too wise to try anything like that. The slightest noise on her part would be heard by the Indian, who, like all members of the American race, had his senses trained to a fineness that seems marvellous to the Caucasian. He would take the alarm on the instant, and leap to the ground, or, what was more likely, assail her with his knife, since his rifle had been left below.
“What’s become ob dat villain?” Dinah asked herself, after peering about in the gloom for a full minute; “I wonder wheder he hasn’t got ’shamed ob hisself, and hab slunk off and is gwine down to knock at my door and ax my pardon–Lor’ a massy!”
There was good cause for this alarm on her part, for at that moment she made a discovery that fairly took away her breath.
CHAPTER VII.
DINAH’S EXPLOIT
The revelation that broke upon the senses of the colored servant did not reach her through her power of vision. She still saw nothing but the all-encircling night, nor did she hear anything except the sighing of the wind through the mesquite bush, or the guarded movements of the red men below.
It was her power of smell that told her an appalling fact. She detected the odor of burning wood!
The Indian whom she had heard prowling like a hungry wolf over the roof, was there for a more sinister purpose, if possible, than that of gaining entrance through the scuttle into the building. He had managed to climb undetected to his perch for the purpose of setting fire to the building, and not only that, but he had succeeded in his design.
The same delicacy of scent that had told the woman the frightful truth enabled her to locate the direction of the fire. It was over the peak of the roof, a little in front and to the left.
Gazing toward the point, she observed a dim glow in the darkness, such as might have been made by the reflection of a lucifer match. It was the illumination produced by the twist of flame the Comanche had kindled. If allowed to burn for a few minutes, the wind would fan it into an inextinguishable blaze.
How she managed to do what she did without discovery she never could have explained herself. But, holding the lid firmly grasped with one hand, she lifted it up until it stood perpendicular on its noiseless hinges.
As the door moved over to this position, her head and shoulders rose through the opening. Had her movements been quick, instead of deliberate, they would have suggested the action of the familiar Jack-in-the-box.
This straightening of her stature brought her head several inches above the peak or highest portion of the house, and, consequently, gave her a view of the entire roof.
And looking in the direction whence the odor came, and where she had caught the tiny illumination, the brave colored woman saw a sight indeed.
A brawny Indian