This work was not to the taste of the two white boys. They had played their part, and now they entered the defile to seek their companion.
Compton went ahead into the shadows, following the river, and thinking of nothing but the fight that they knew from the sounds was raging somewhere before them. As he turned a corner made by a projection in the wall, a dark hand seized him by the neck, and he was on his back, with a roaring sound in his ears, and a feeling of suffocation.
"What's the matter?" he gasped presently, when the grip on his throat relaxed.
"Can you stand?"
"Yes, of course." Compton got up. "You look queer."
"Feel queer," said Venning. "Enough to make a chap queer to see you go down like that with a big black on top of you."
"Where is he?" and Compton hunted for his rifle.
"Shot him; but, for all I knew, I might have shot you. He fell in the river. Perhaps there are more of them hiding."
"You shot him?"
"Yes—go along; but for goodness' sake don't let another one jump on you."