They paused and retreated a few steps and listened. The voice of the bird went on, hoarser and lifted higher than before.
“Ho, ho, and a bottle of rum!”
The Mexicans turned and fled, almost falling over each other in their eagerness to put as much space as possible between themselves and whatever it was that was making the talk.
At what seemed a safe distance they paused and gathered in a group for the comparing of impressions regarding the voice which all had heard. Some declared it to be the devil, and some said that there was a man who had not been seen concealed in the cabin.
While the arguments were going on the boys were not idle. The revolvers and guns were placed where they could easily be reached, and ammunition belts were buckled on.
The river pirates had not disturbed the arms while they were in possession of the Rambler, so the weapons, which they intended to appropriate later on, had not been molested.
“They seem to be losing their courage!” Paul exclaimed. “It is a good thing! If they come an inch nearer, they’ll receive the contents of this automatic.”
“They will soon be here,” Clay reasoned. “When they discover that it is only a bird they are running away from, they will rush the boat. You will have to shoot fast then!”
“All right!” was Paul’s reply. “I’ll shoot fast, and shoot to kill. I think they are getting ready to charge the boat right now! Shall we go to the deck and get behind the bullet-proof railing?”
CHAPTER XV