They might perish, one and all, and the rest of the world not hear of it until long afterwards.
A moaning wind came up and sighed over the log houses, the younger children--and few were too young not to guess what was expected--fell asleep at last, but the older, those who had reached their thinking years could not find such solace.

In this black darkness their fears became real; there was no false alarm, the forest around them hid their enemy, but only for the time.
There was little noise in the station.

By the low fires in the houses the women steadily molded bullets, and seldom spoke to each other, as they poured the melted lead into the molds.

By the walls the men too, rifle in hand, were silent, as they sought with intent eyes to mark what was passing in the forest.
Lucy Upton was molding bullets in her father's house and they were melting the lead at a bed of coals in the wide fireplace.

None was steadier of hand or more expert than she.