Rob raised a warning hand that they should all be silent. At last a loud voice called out to them in broken English:
“White mans there! You come out! Me good mans! All good mans!”
The faces of all inside the hut were now very serious, for they did not know what might be the nature of these visitors, and there was no window or crack through which they could peer. Jimmy made no motion to go out of the door, but, on the contrary, was trying to hide behind the pile of fox-traps under the low eaves.
“One thing is certain,” said Rob, with determination: “we’re trapped in here, and can’t get out without their seeing us, whoever they are. So come on and let’s go out and face them. Are you ready now?”
The others, silent and anxious, crawled close behind him as he pushed open the door and sprang out, rifle in hand.
They found themselves surrounded by nearly a score of natives—short, squat fellows with wild, black hair, most of them in half-civilized garments. They bore all sorts of weapons, some of them having rifles, others short harpoons, and bows and arrows. A large, dark-faced native seemed to be their leader, and seeing the boys now ready to defend themselves, he shifted his gun to his left hand and held out his right with a smile, continuing his broken English.
HE SHIFTED HIS GUN TO HIS LEFT HAND AND HELD OUT HIS RIGHT WITH A SMILE