“Unless it is a party of Malays shooting.”
“Then they are shooting our men,” cried Bob. “They wouldn’t be hunting when it’s getting dark.”
“There’s another shot,” said the lieutenant, now growing as excited as his companion. “What shall we do?”
“Fire a big gun,” said Bob.
“That would be letting our enemies know where we are,” said the lieutenant.
“Well,” said Bob, sturdily, “let ’em know. It will show ’em that we are not afraid of them.”
“You are right, Roberts,” said lieutenant Johnson, quickly. “Unshot the bow gun there.”
The gun was opened; the shot cartridge drawn out, a blank one substituted; and directly after, the black darkness that had seemed to settle down over them was cut by a vivid flash, and the utter silence that was brooding over the river was broken by the deep-mouthed roar of the great breech-loading cannon.
The report seemed to roll off into the distance and echo amongst the mountains; and then, as it died away, they all listened with strained senses for some reply.
It came, just as they expected—three rifle-shots in succession. Then a pause, and three more rifle-shots.