Loud cries suddenly arose in chorus from the camp of the natives.
Brown started up.
"The devil!" he said, after listening. "That old Columbus at his cannibal tricks again. See if he is there, Charlie."
Billy and Columbus had made a separate fire, round which they were sleeping, coiled after the manner of blackfellows. Billy, aroused by the outcries which rung out clearly and distinctly in the still night air, now struggled to his feet, half asleep.
"Here's Columbus," said Charlie, giving the prostrate chieftain a good kick. "Wake up, old man!" he cried.
Columbus never stirred.
"There's something up," said Charlie, drawing back with a shudder.
Morton struck a match, as did Brown.
There was indeed something up. One glimpse was sufficient. Columbus lay dead, his skull shattered with a two-handed club which had been left beside his body. The shouts of the blacks were tokens of rejoicing at the return of his executioners with their work accomplished.
The whites gazed at the dead man in silence, and each felt slightly cold at the thought of the ease with which the whole camp might have been disposed of.