As he spoke, he could see the blood-red eyes turned toward him again; then he saw the points of fire dip, and he knew the indistinguishable object was once more hurtling toward the stockade.
There were new cries of terror. Then the hiss and snarl high above sounded again. Bigger grew the glaring eyes of the Bird of Death, and then out of its gaping throat came a stream of fire. The roar of the returning object swept before it.
“Eat black man; eat black man!” came a voice out of the hollow sky.
Amid a hundred shrieks, a terror-stricken form threw itself at the white man’s feet.
“Cajou lie; Cajou lie,” it wailed. “White man make stop.”
[“Come, Bird of Death!”] roared the iron-nerved Englishman.
“Eat black woman, eat black baby!” fell again from the clouds.
One more look, and the prostrate Cajou caught at the buttons on his faded coat, tore the garment loose at the neck, and struck out his palsied hand.
“Stop!” commanded the man in white, as he shot up his arm to stay the avenging bird. He could barely see the old man; but he felt the outstretched hand. Grasping the object in it, he found it still attached to a cord. With a snap he tore it loose. His fingers closed on what he knew was a small skin bag. Then with a thrill he felt within the bag a pear-shaped object. It required no look to tell him what it was.