"They're—they're going to sacrifice him, Larkin," Dick managed to blurt out at last.
"The black-'earted 'eathen," came in a growl from Hawkins, now at his side, while Hurst joined them, muttering deeply beneath his breath. "What'll you do, sir?"
"Wait for Mr. Alec and the officers, then rush 'em. Get hold of those clubs."
But a second later there came a disturbing noise from the adjacent hut, just at the precise moment when that hideous tall sorcerer danced his way back to Larkin, and, swinging his club overhead, brought it down with a thud on the top of the pillar to which the unhappy fellow was lashed. Even then the brave soldier did not flinch. They heard him growl loudly and angrily as the club thudded on the top of the stump.
"That's one fer you," they heard, "one fer you, yer ugly son of a gun. But jest you wait till I get a whack in. Then I'll make yer feel sorry you was born, I will."
There came a shout from that adjacent hut. The door flew open, and in a twinkling a forlorn little band dashed forward, Alec at their head, the Major and the Commander following. Hawkins and Hurst and Dick acted on that signal. They flung themselves upon the frail walls and door of that hut, bursting it open as if it were constructed of paper. Then, followed by Mr. Andrew, they launched themselves at the natives, Dick wielding his rusty sabre, Hawkins with an enormous club, whilst Hurst and Andrew were similarly armed.
"The black-'earted 'eathen!" shouted Hawkins, springing to the front, for he was a huge fellow, and extraordinarily active. "That's fer you, you smelly sea serpent!"
It was the big sorcerer, he with the club, who had made such fine practice round Larkin's head, and looked as if he would at any moment crack his skull. But he was too late now. Hawkins was not the kind of man to deal a blow that asked for repetition, not at least when in anger. And he was furious. His club beat down that of the native, broke it, in fact, and then descended with a crash full on his woolly pate. The dull crushing sound that followed, and the manner in which this man of medicine fell in his tracks, told a tale there was no mistaking. Meanwhile Dick had run through a second sorcerer, while the gallant Alec had dived for the waist of the third, he with the torch, had handled him as he would a man breaking from scrum and likely to get clear away if not securely collared. Yes, Alec seized this wretch, and, exerting an abnormal strength, lifted him, swung him in the air, and then tossed him to the ground. By then the Major had cut Larkin free, and the latter individual burst upon the enemy like a torrent. Seething with indignation, he selected the fellow whom Alec had tackled, and who had now risen to his feet. Larkin launched himself at him, seized him by neck and shoulder, and shook him as if he were a rat. Then he pushed him away a foot or two, drew himself backward in time to escape a lunge and a blow from a knife which the rascal had suddenly produced, and then struck out with tremendous force, sending his fist against the point of the sorcerer's chin.
"And he won't get askin' fer more, I don't think," declared the furious soldier, looking about him with those pugnacious, wandering eyes. "No, I don't think; and so here's something for some of the other fellers."