"Of one thing and another," I replied, flushing.
"Come," said Gleazen, boldly, "let us all talk together."
"Dis one beeg war!" the trader cried. "To fight—eet is all we can do. Fighting we go, da's what me, I say. See! Sun, he come up!"
"To that," said Arnold, "we all agree. We, sir, will go with you and fight by your side."
"Good! Me, I's happy. You brave men. Dis one beeg war, but we make plenty war back again."
Then he cried out orders in Spanish, and the camp woke to the activities of the new day; and while some of us held off the blacks, the rest of us ate our morning meal in the first golden sunlight of the dawn, with a hum and bustle of packing and harnessing and herding going on around us.
But all the time the drums beat, and far away we would hear now and then calls and shouts that made the strange trader and Gleazen and O'Hara exchange significant glances.
As with loaded muskets we fell in to guard the caravan, and the porters lifted their bundles, and the herders goaded their beasts, and the captive negroes started hopelessly on the road to the river, and the sudden hush of voices made the trample of feet seem three times louder than before, we heard guns behind us.
"Ha! Dose trade gun, hey?" the trader cried, and fell into Spanish.