The second bullet had done no harm, but the natives, not knowing how many men were following Glennie, whirled and made off, one of them picking up the fallen spear as he went.
“Are you hurt, Bob?” panted Glennie, coming to a breathless halt beside Bob.
“Not at all, Glennie,” Bob answered; “but I had a tight squeak of it.”
“Shall we chase those rascals?”
“No,” was the answer as Bob regained his feet; “we’ll make tracks back to the Grampus, and thank our lucky stars that we got out of this as well as we did. There may be a lot more of the Indians hiding among the rocks, and I’ve a notion that their spear points are poisoned. We’ll not give them a chance to dig their spears into us, if we can help it.”
Watching behind cautiously, Bob and Glennie immediately set out on their return to the boat.
“I didn’t think there was a human being anywhere near the island, apart from ourselves,” said Bob. “When those rascals came face to face with me the surprise was mutual—and far from pleasant, so far as I was concerned. Did you hear me yell?”
“That’s what brought me ashore,” said Glennie. “Ferral was bound to come; but I told him he had better carry out orders regarding the ship and let me go. This six-shooter carried the day.”
“And saved my life,” added Bob. “I’ll not forget that, Mr. Glennie.”
A flush of pleasure ran through Glennie’s face. “Bosh!” he exclaimed. “You’d have done the same for me, if our positions had been reversed.”