Thus might one of the daughters of Boadicea have looked whilst guiding her mother's chariot against the Roman phalanx.

Resting on one knee, with a revolver in each hand, she seemed no puling mate for the gallant man who fought for her.
She caught his look.
"We will beat them yet!" she cried again, and she smiled, not as a woman smiles, but with the joy of a warrior when the fray is toward.
There was no time for further speech.

Three ladders were reared against the rock.

They were so poised and held below that Jenks could not force them backwards.

A fourth appeared, its coarse shafts looming into sight like the horns of some gigantic animal.