“And so do I, my dear,” said Aunt Georgie. “He was only a savage, but he had grown as faithful as a dog, and so we told your father, but he’s as stubborn as—”
“Aunt,” cried the captain, “what are you doing here?”
“To your room, please. You are hindering the boys from keeping proper watch.”
“Good-night; God bless you, my dears!” whispered Aunt Georgie, in a husky whisper. “It’s very dreadful, but I’m sure he is killed.”
“Look out!” whispered Norman, a short time after. “It isn’t quite so dark, and I can see some one moving. Shall I fire?”
“No. It may be Shanter.”
It was not. A few minutes later Norman had a narrow escape from death, for a spear was thrust through the loophole, and a shot being fired in reply, half a dozen spears came rattling at the thick shutter; and this time the boys distinctly heard the black fellows come softly up and drag their weapons out of the wood, just as they were alarmed by a fresh attempt to enter by the chimney, and some one on the roof was trying to tear up the shingles.
“Fire, boys, fire!” cried the captain; while shots rang out from the front. The boys fired, Tim directing his two charges through the ceiling, where he imagined enemies to be lying, the others firing through the loophole.
There was the customary rush overhead, the sound of falls, fierce yelling, as a pair of spears struck the house, and Norman uttered a sharp cry.
“Any one hurt?” cried the captain, excitedly. “Marian, aunt, go and see. I can’t leave here.”