On the way over Ambrose was greatly astonished to feel his sleeve gently plucked. He studied the men beside him, and finally made out Tole under his flaring hatbrim.
Into his ear he whispered: "I told you to go home."
"I go with you," Tole whispered back. "I your friend."
Ambrose's anxious heart was warmed. He needed a friend. He gripped
Tole's shoulder.
"Have you a gun?" he asked.
The breed shook his head.
"Get guns for us both if you can," said Ambrose.
On the other side, the instant the york boat touched the shingle, the Indians set up a chorus of yelling frightful to hear, and scrambled ashore.
Ambrose and Tole were among the first out. Together they drew aside a little way into the darkness to see what would happen. There was no need to warn the Company people; the yelling did that.
The Indians set off across the beach and up the bank, working themselves up with their strident, brutish cries. The habits of thirty years of peace were shed like a garment. The young men of the tribe had never heard the war-cry until that moment.