For some time none of the explorers spoke. They were too captivated by the scene. But at last Mr. Holton turned thought into action.
“Get your rifles in readiness,” he commanded. “It’s up to us to drive this tribe away. The chief’s men seem unable to do it.
“Now we’re all good shots,” he went on. “Suppose we fire a volley of bullets and see if we can’t make them leave without bloodshed. If we can’t, we’ll have to shoot to kill. Come on, now.”
The whites raised their rifles, and, one at a time, pulled the triggers. Five shots rang out, much to the surprise of the savages. But as no damage seemed to be done by the strange reports, the Indians regained confidence and sent spears and arrows in the explorers’ direction. As a result, one of the crew went down, wounded in the thigh.
“We’ll have to shoot to kill,” said Mr. Lewis at once.
He raised his rifle and, taking careful aim, fired at the nearest native, who went down instantly.
Mr. Lewis’s shot was followed by those of the other whites, and at once panic ensued among the invading savages.
After only a thin defense, they took to their heels with cries of fright and bewilderment, leaving their dead and wounded behind.
“Guess that drove them off all right,” said Bob with a grim smile. “Come on, let’s——But wait! Look! The chief’s tribe is worshiping us.”
Bob was right. The Indians had fallen to their knees, waving their arms and muttering words that were not understood even by Professor Bigelow.