“Yes, just where the leopard sprang out.”
“Good,” cried Panton, and he went on at the head of the men, while Oliver halted till Smith and Wriggs came up with Drew.
“Speak the truth, Tommy,” Wriggs was saying. “Yer can’t be hungry enough to eat a black, so don’t tell no lies.”
“Where are we for?” said Drew, anxiously.
“The old crater, to make that a fort.”
“Hooroar,” said Smith, in a low voice. “Splendid. Billy, old chap, that place was just runnin’ in my head, as being a good spot for a fight.”
“Then the sooner we are there, the better,” said Drew, “for the wretches are close behind.”
“And going to shoot,” said Oliver, raising his piece, and firing back both barrels rapidly, the buck shot with which they were charged breaking through the leaves and twigs and eliciting a savage yell.
“He’s got it, Billy,” said Smith, “and sarve him right.”
Some little trifle later, after being much harassed, the retreating party were offering themselves as prominent marks to the blacks, as they climbed up the outer slope of the old crater, but very soon after they began to reach shelter, and at last they lined the top of the mouldering wall, while the blacks hesitated to approach, for the deadly powers of the whites’ guns had become more and more acknowledged. Hence the fugitives were glad to rest a little, and refresh with water from the lake and such scraps of food as they happened to have, though the refreshment was principally black-looking pig-tail tobacco, Smith and Wriggs having their pipes and beginning to smoke.