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they make a move? What are they waiting for?”
    Cavanaugh paused on the stairway. From above, he heard faint thumps, a muffled crackle, as if somebody were crumpling newspapers.
    “William, run back to the office and get the fire extinguisher.”
    “But what if he keeps shooting into that room?”
    “He won't. Then get the extinguisher from the kitchen.”
    “But how do you know he won't shoot into the office?”
    Cavanaugh heard several more thumps above him. The crackle became louder. Smoke appeared at the head of the stairs.
    “Because he's shooting through the upstairs windows now!” Cavanaugh charged up. “Get the extinguishers! The bedrooms are on fire!”
    Sweating, he heard the horses galloping out of control past the front of the house. They snorted in terror. He raced to the top of the stairs and saw smoke drifting from the four bedrooms along the eastern side of the house.
    A frenzied sound on the staircase came from William charging onto the landing with two fire extinguishers. The attorney's perfect shoes, suit, teeth, and hair looked absurd amid the chaos.
    “We'll each take a bedroom!” Cavanaugh set down his rifle and grabbed one of the extinguishers.
    To the right, debris burst from a wall at the end of the corridor. A tracer bullet had come through a bedroom's window, hit the inside wall (which was of ordinary construction, unlike the log exterior), and rammed through into the corridor, bringing wood and plaster with it, striking a farther wall.
    Another bullet burst through a closer wall.
    “Jesus, we'll be hit!” William said.
    “Get down!” Cavanaugh warned.
    As they sprawled on the floor, a bullet slammed through the wall above them, plaster and splinters spraying them.
    “Something's burning me!” William said.
    Cavanaugh saw an ember on the back of William's neck, another in his hair, smoke starting to dance. He flicked them off as a bullet hit the bedroom to their left, sending debris through the wall into the corridor.
    “He's moving his aim back and forth along the side of the building,” Cavanaugh said.
    Whack! Another bullet erupted through the wall above them. The smoke thickened.
    The moment a bullet burst through a wall to the right, Cavanaugh scrambled to his feet. “Hurry before his shots come back in this direction!”
    As William took the bedroom on the left, Cavanaugh ducked into the one in front of him. Choking from the smoke, he pushed the trigger on the extinguisher. With a hiss , the retardant's haze surrounded the fire. He saw the flames weaken and kept squeezing the extinguisher's trigger. He heard a bullet wallop into the farthest bedroom on the right. Continuing to spray the retardant, he heard the next bullet hit the bedroom immediately to the right. He released the trigger, shouted to the bedroom on the left, “William, get down!” and dove to the floor. A tracer cracked through the air above his head.
    “William!”
    “I'm down! I'm down!” came the reply as an incendiary hit the bedroom on the left.
    Cavanaugh tensed, waiting for more bullets to march back and forth along the building. But what had been a steady sequence faltered. One second became two, then three, the pause lengthening. Four. Five.
    “Maybe he's out of ammunition,” William said.
    “Or else he hopes we'll get careless.”
    Cavanaugh sprayed retardant against the wall, then coughed so hard that he needed to get away from the smoke. He staggered into the corridor, where he was stunned to see William, his hair mussed, his face smudged, his suit rumpled, spraying retardant into the bedroom on the left.
    “What are you staring at?” William wanted to know. “Don't you realize attorneys feel at home in hell?”
    Cavanaugh started to grin, but the impulse faded as he glanced up toward the ceiling and noticed smoke seeping from it.
    “No.”
    “What's wrong?” William aimed his fire extinguisher.
    “The attic's on fire!”
    He raced to a trap door in the ceiling, reached for a short