Chapter Eleven.
“I said it was a snake.”
“Norman, Rifle, Tim! Help! Help!”
“What’s the matter?” cried Tim. “Here, boys, quick! There’s something wrong at the house.”
The three boys, who had heard the faint cries from a distance, set off at a run.
“It must be aunt. The girls and mamma are down by the waterfall,” cried Rifle.
“Yes; it’s aunt sure enough,” said Norman, as they saw the old lady hurrying toward them.
“It must be the blacks come at last,” cried Tim; “and oh, boys, we have not got our guns!”