After a few moments he said:
“There is no doubt about the arrows having been dipped in something, and we must not run any more risks.”
Brace experienced a chilly feeling as he thought of his brother, but he made an effort to master the nervous dread by devoting himself to the task they had in hand.
“The arrows seem to come from the foot of that great tree,” he said, pointing to where a giant rose high above the heads of its neighbours and sent forth huge boughs, the lowermost of which swept the surface of the river.
“I fancy they come from some twenty feet up,” said Briscoe thoughtfully.
“You’re right, sir,” said his servant. “Look at that,” and he drew his master’s attention to a shaft which just at that moment rose from out of the densest part of the tree, described an arch, and fell upon the deck.
“I can’t see him,” cried Lynton, who was crouching in the shelter of the bulwark; “but I fancy I can make out where he is.”
“Try,” said the mate, and the next minute Lynton fired, his bullet cutting the leaves of the pyramid of verdure, and the report startling a flock of bright green birds, which flew screaming across to the opposite bank of the river.
“A miss,” said the mate. “Now you try, sir. It’s random work though.”
Brace felt a shrinking sensation, but he knew that the time had come for action, and rested his rifle upon the bulwark and sent the bullet hurtling through the densest part of the tree.