However, I grabbed
up a rifle, and then opening a trap door, dropped down into a little
cubbyhole under the floor, where we used to keep our batteries. What I
brought the rifle along for I can't say, unless it was to blow the top
of my own head off. The place was like a bake-oven and all the air I
received came through a small crack in the floor, and it was not long
until I was soaked with perspiration.
[Illustration: "One of them picked up the lantern, and swaggering over
to where I sat all trembling...."]
Overhead I could hear the crack of the rifles and the whoop of the
Indians as the battle raged, back and forth. During a temporary lull I
heard the despatcher calling me for dear life, but he could call for all
I cared; I had other business just then--I was truly "25." All at once I
heard a bigger commotion than ever, there was a sound as if caused by
the scurrying of many feet, and then all was quiet. I sat there
wondering what was coming next, and how much longer I had to live, when
I smelled smoke, and in a second I knew the depot was on fire. I tried
to raise the trap-door, but it had a snap lock and had been dropped so
hard in my mad efforts to get away, that it was securely locked.
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