The party was swinging along at a fast half-run over the sands that lay between the edge of the village and the beginning of the rookery, and with the rising of the moon the fog seemed to thin.
"I had rather we were a little nearer before it gets too light," the agent said, "but we'd better make the best use we can of our time."
On reaching the wall, the agent vaulted lightly over it, the rest following suit, and to Colin's surprise the official led the way behind the rookery, threading in and out between idle bulls, who made a display of great ferocity but never actually attacked. The agent paid not the slightest heed to any of them, merely keeping out of reach of their teeth.
As they turned a corner, a cloud which had partly obscured the moon passed and showed them an unexpected sight. Magnified into gigantic forms by the fog were the figures of six men, apparently all armed, facing Hank, the old whaler, who, with both revolvers, was keeping them at bay. He was close to the shore, standing behind two old, wicked-looking beachmasters, who, in the un
natural light, appeared to be twice their natural size. Hank let out a hail as soon as he saw the government party coming to his assistance, but he did not relax his vigilance.
"I've got this bunch covered," he said, "an' they can't get to their boat. One load did get off."
Hearing his shout the invaders turned quickly, but found themselves overpowered, for a dozen rifles were leveled at them. They knew, too, that natives who are trained to shoot fur seal in the water—as most of those men had done before pelagic sealing was stopped—could be counted on as good shots.
The agent, who spoke sufficient Japanese for simple needs, demanded the surrender of the raiders and asked which was the officer of the party. This question they refused to understand.
"I suppose he went off in the other boat," hazarded the agent. "That's a pity. He stands a good chance of being shot!"
Colin looked up inquiringly.