'Two to six, at least,' pondered Callum.
'But I have six shots in my revolver.'
'If I had only my old rifle here,' sighed Callum, 'I could pick them all off like black-cocks!'
Two pistols flashed from the kochamba, and threw a sudden gleam across the water; but their bullets whistled harmlessly over us. Exasperated by this, my foster-brother cried,
'Kill every mother's son of them, Mac Innon—quick—before they reload again!'
But I dared not fire, lest one of those dark figures should be Iola.
'Pull hard,' said I; 'we are not twenty yards apart now; board and attack them with your bayonet—I'll make good use of my dirk, believe me!'
'Fire—fire! are they not three to one?'
'One Highlandman is equal to three Turks any day.'
'True, Mac Innon,' exclaimed Callum, entering at once into the spirit of the attack; 'hoigh—hurrah!'