“Look out for Andy!” Jenkins cried, as he raised his hatchet to ward off a blow aimed at him by a heavy ax. “I can hold my own here if you’ll attend to him.”
The boys were so excited that they hardly heard the words, but, since both were aiming for the same object, the command was involuntarily obeyed.
Lying prostrate on the ground where he had been overturned by the first frenzied rush, the old man was holding up his hands that the bonds might be severed, and with one slash of his knife Gil succeeded in cutting the ropes of grass.
Nelse had fallen over a wounded black as he reached the prisoner’s side, but he managed to scramble to his feet and sever the remaining bonds before Gil could do anything more, and the cook leaped up, and seized a huge club from a pile of wood near the fire, thus adding one more to the small numbers of the attacking party.
The boys’ first impulse was to escape with the rescued man, but a glance toward Jenkins told that he was in sore need of assistance, and both darted to his side.
The enemy were so active that the mate had not been able to deal a single blow with any effect, and pressed him so hotly that he did not have an opportunity to draw his revolver.
“Shoot that biggest imp!” he shouted, as his friends gained his side. “I’ll attend to the other!”
Gil aimed directly at the fellow’s head, for it was no time to hesitate about shedding blood, but before he could discharge the weapon Andy came to the rescue.
With one swinging blow of his huge club he sent both the blacks sprawling on the ground, and Jenkins shouted, as he leaped back:
“Save all your cartridges now, an’ make a dash for the bushes!”