It was the report of a rifle in the clear morning air, fired from the warehouse gable occupied by the two lookout men.
“The pilates!” shouted Wing exultantly.
“It’s our breakfast knocked over, Lynn,” cried Blunt. “Come along, lad.”
He led the way out at the double, and the next minute was hailing the men on the roof.
“See them coming?” he shouted, with his hand to the side of his mouth.
“Yes, sir; half-a-dozen big junks yonder, right across the land there, in the second great bend of the river, I think.”
“Miles away, then?”
“Yes, sir; four or five.”
“Then the wind will be sometimes with them, sometimes against. That’s good news, Lynn; we shall be able to have our breakfast in peace, and digest it in war. Come along in.”
“Oh, I couldn’t eat now!” cried Stan excitedly, for his heart was giving big thumps as he gazed right away overland towards where the river curved round the end of a mountain-spur.