“Shanter says metancoly,” cried Tim. “I suppose that’s what makes them so fierce. Do you think they will stay till they’ve killed us all?”
“Hope not,” replied Rifle; “I’m getting tired of it. I wish father hadn’t come out so far away from all neighbours. We might have had some help if he hadn’t.”
“Hush! the girls,” whispered Norman, as, pale and anxious looking, the sister and cousin went to the front door where the captain was watching, Shanter being on duty at the back.
It was soon agreed that it was of no use to wish, and the long irksome day came to an end, with the door once more barricaded, and keen eyes watching for the next approach of the enemy.
But the blacks were too cunning to advance while there was the slightest chance of their being observed; and when they did come it was with a sudden rush from somewhere close at hand, when retaliatory shots again and again forced them to retreat. It was just such a night as the others which they had passed, and the coming of day was once more gladly hailed with its peace and opportunities for rest and sleep.
That afternoon the captain looked more haggard and wistful than ever. As far as he could make out, a couple of his choicest oxen were missing, and it soon became a conviction that they had been speared by the black fellows for their feast about the fire they had established in a grove a mile away.
So far there was no fear of the garrison, as Rifle called them, being starved out; but at any time a nearer approach of the enemy would put a stop to the successful little forays made by Shanter in search of eggs and chickens; and the task of milking the cows, which marched up slowly morning and evening, might easily have been made too difficult or terminated by the throwing of spears.
“Don’t let’s halloa before we are hurt,” Tim had said to this; and all went on as before, the next day and the next.
Again the sun rose after a more anxious night, for the attacks had been exceedingly pertinacious and harassing, while the mischief done amongst the attacking party must have been terrible.
“They’re getting more savage,” Norman said gloomily in the course of the day, after returning from the room where Mrs Bedford was lying down; “and it’s wearing mamma out.”