Half way between
the cabin and that fringe of forest four hundred yards away was a
"hogback" in the snow, running a curving parallel with the plain.
It formed scarcely more than a three or four foot rise in the
surface, and he had given it no special significance until now.
His lips formed words as the thrill of understanding leapt upon
him.
"They're moving!" he called to Olaf. "They're going to make a rush
for the little ridge between us and the timber. Good God,
Anderson, there's an army of them!"
"Not more'n a hundred," replied the Swede calmly, taking his place
at the gun-crevice. "Take it easy, Phil. This will be good target
practice. We've got to make an eighty percent kill as they come
across the open. This is mighty comfortable compared with the
trick they turned on us when they got Calkins, Harris and O'Flynn.
I got away in the night."
The moving line had paused just within the last straggling growth
of trees, as if inviting the fire of the defenders.
Olaf grunted as he looked along the barrel of his rifle.
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