After their leader, a great pack of the dogs rushed along with soldiers protected from head to foot by their coats of mail and helmets. Queer weapons were fired, blunderbusses and heavy cross-bows, long swords flashed and after ten minutes of the wildest confusion the natives were dead, all except a few women and children who were slung up behind the soldiers, while others gathered the treasure in their arms and galloped away with the rich booty, but as they scrambled up the rocks, a number of them were dislodged and came tumbling down. The stones seemed to mark the wall of some natural dam, for instantly there was a terrific boom, boom, and tons of water roared over, sweeping the burdened horses helplessly before it. Snarling and fighting the dogs struggled to swim to safety, but most of them were battered by heavy armor or kicking hoofs, so that they sunk with their laden masters in the swirling water.
“Get back,” Lang shrieked in terror, but although the water had reached their side, the main part of it found a lower outlet, and it flowed off among the boulders. However it was deep enough so that there was no evidence of what it concealed, and the four who had witnessed the horrible tragedy stared mutely at one another.
“I tell you I’m dreaming,” Mills repeated.
“Let’s get out of here,” cried Lang, glancing about him fearfully.
“How are we going to do it?”
“Follow the stream around to the other side,” Jim suggested.
“Say, what in—”
“You needn’t say it,” Jim snapped, or rather barked. “Face about and get going. Make it lively—”
“You brats—”
“Save those little pleasantries for later, old man,” Jim ordered. “It’s your turn to lead this party—”