"Women are the devil!" he muttered.
A great unholy joy filled Ambrose's breast. In his relief he could have hugged the boy, and laughed.
"Don't abuse the women, my son," he said grimly. "They have to fight with what weapons they can. You were warned. You only got what was coming to you!"
When the machine was running smoothly again, Ambrose went to the door to reconnoiter.
"They've gone," he said. "I don't think they'll trouble us again before morning. You can all sleep."
Daybreak and the following hours found Ambrose and his party on the qui vive for a renewed demonstration from the other side. None was made.
Neither Macfarlane, Gordon Strange, nor Colina could have mustered a corporal's guard of the natives to their aid. The breeds in their own mysterious way had simply disappeared.
Without them, the half dozen whites could do nothing against Ambrose's strong party. Colina herself had suffered a moral defeat, and required time to recoup her losses.
In the back of the store the white men and Gordon Strange held lengthy consultations without agreeing on any course of action. Strange in his modest way deferred to Macfarlane and the others.
But John Gaviller's absolute sway at the post had sapped the lesser men's initiative. He was not able to be present, and they were helpless.