As we approached the palisades we descried through the openings a score or two of them, comical in their broad pantaloons, their belts bristling with cutlasses and pistols, prancing around the fire like Mohicans dancing a scalp.
They paid no attention to us, and we crossed the cleared area inside to the door of the blockhouse, where Coupeau lounged against the log wall.
"M'sieu le capitaine ees com'?" he inquired.
I told him yes.
"Ees com' queeck?" he insisted.
I shrugged my shoulders to this, and he grunted.
"Maybe so we mak'—— com' at those rrrrascal," he suggested.
"Have they had any rum?" I asked suspiciously.
"Non. They have zee fire—and they see much trrreasure."
He paused.