A bullet whipped his hat from his head.

Then the hand of the girl clutched his shoulder.
"Stirrup and saddle, Anthony!" He seized the pommel of the saddle, hooked his foot into the stirrup which she abandoned to him, and she spurred back toward the old house.
A shout followed them, a roar that ended in a harsh rattle of curses; they heard the spat of bullets several times on the trees past which they whirled.

But it was only a second before they were once more in the shelter of the house.

He stood in the centre of the room, stunned, staring stupidly around him.

It was not fear of death that benumbed him, but a rising horror that he should be so trapped--like a wild beast cornered and about to be worried to death by dogs.
As for escape, there was simply no chance--it was impossible.