“I think, sir,” began Sam German slowly, but he was interrupted by Uncle Jack:
“Some one coming up; better look out. Hah!” Uncle Jack shrank away from the loophole in the doorway just in time, for a spear was thrust through, grazing his cheek. Then it was withdrawn for a second thrust, but it did not pass through.
Sam German’s gun-barrel did, and he fired as he held it pistol-wise.
There was a horrible yell following the report; then a fearful shriek or two, and a fresh shower of spears struck the house, while a burst of low sobbing came from the girls’ room.
“Marian! Aunt Georgie!” cried the captain, sternly. “Silence there, for all our sakes. Is that how English ladies should encourage those who are fighting for their lives?”
The sobbing ceased on the instant, and a silence fell outside.
“Gone,” whispered Norman, after a time.
“Baal gone,” said Shanter, coolly. “Black fellow plenty come along soon.”
The black’s words went home and sank deeply, a chill of horror running through the boys as they felt how, after this reception, their enemies would be implacable, and that if they gained the upper hand it meant death for them all. It was in ignorance, though, for had the reception been of the kindest, the probability was that they would have run the same chance of massacre.
But the feeling of depression passed off quickly enough now, and the excitement of the last hour produced a feeling of elation. It had been horrible, that encounter with the descending enemy, and then the firing and the shrieks and yells as they had shot at these men; and then unconsciously, while he and his brothers were silently and thoughtfully dwelling on the same theme, Norman said aloud: “No, they are not men, but wolves, and must be treated the same.”