"Well, his back was towards me," said Dennis. "Besides, a shot would have alarmed his comrades on the ship."
"The ship!" repeated the man, looking round again with fear in his eyes. "The ship! They'll find us! We are rats in a trap! Lord save us all!"
"Come, we must think of something. Can you speak to these men?"
"Ay, in some sort. Not in their own tongue, 'tis monkey-talk to me. Ah! look at 'em, poor knaves."
The Indians had fallen upon the provisions brought by the Spaniards for their own consumption, and were devouring them ravenously. Turnpenny called to them in a husky whisper, as though fearful of his own voice reaching the ears of an enemy. Then, taking the dazed Spaniard with them, the woodcutters, hobbled by the logs, made off across the island, led by Dennis to the watercourse at the further end of which his hut stood. Within half a mile of that spot he halted, and got the Englishman to tell the others to remain there until rejoined. With Turnpenny he hastened on.
"God be praised I was able to help you," he said.
"Ay, but I fear me 'tis to your own undoing. They will come ashore, and catch 'ee, and flay 'ee alive."
"Tell me, how many men are left on the bark?"
"Ten, lad, all armed to the teeth. Sure they will land when we don't go aboard at night. They will hunt us down. This time to-morrow we'll be dead men, or worse than dead."
"Pluck up heart," said Dennis. "There are six of us; I have arms for all; we can post ourselves at a place of our own choice, and make a good defence, I warrant you."