Chapter Six.
“Coo-ee! Coo-ee!”
A run was made for the wagons, in whose shelter the ladies were placed, while with quite military precision, the result of the captain’s teaching, men and boys stood to their arms, so that an inimical tribe would have had to face six double guns, whose discharge had been so arranged, that two would always be loading, two firing, and the other two ready to pour in their shots in case of a rush.
It was just at the edge of the grove at one end, where a glimpse of the black figure had been seen, and every eye was strained on the watch for the next appearance of danger.
“I’m glad we were warned in time,” said the captain in a low voice. Then, after a painful pause, “Mind this; not a shot must be wasted. If we are to fire on the poor wretches, I should prefer for them to be at a distance, so that the charges of buck-shot may scatter and wound as many as possible, so as to give them a lesson. A close shot means death. No one fires till I give the word.”
The moments grew into minutes, and as Norman looked back over his shoulder, he could see the anxious faces of the four ladies peering out at him from their shelter, but not a word was spoken.
“Think they will get round to the back to try and drive off the bullocks?”
“I was thinking of going to see, and— Look out!”
For all at once there was a loud rustling of the bushes in front of them, as if something was making a rush, and the next moment a black figure bounded into the open space where the fire was burning.