Half an hour after this, Bill and two men stepped out from the bush and advanced.
His brow was bound with a blood-stained handkerchief.
It was a spear wound, but he would not hear of it being dressed at present.
"What cheer then, Bill?"
"Not much of that," he answered, throwing himself down and lighting that marvellous meerschaum, from which he appeared to get so much consolation.
"Not a vast deal of cheer. Yes, I'll eat after I gets a bit cooler like."
"Ay, we'll have to fight the Dun-skins. They swarm in the forest between us and the Madeira, and they are about as far from bein' angels as any durned nigger could be."
"And what do you advise, Bill?"
"Well," was the reply, "as soon as your boys get their nose-bags off, my advice is to set to work with spade and shovel and transform this 'ere camp into a fortress.
"Ay, and it is one we won't be able to abandon for days and days to come," he added.