Suddenly there came the crack of a twig somewhere above. It was only a mite of a noise, but in the stillness it sounded as startling as a pistol shot.
“We won’t have to wait long now,” commented Bart in a tense undertone; “all ready, now.”
Each of the boys gripped his rifle determinedly. Old Mr. Joyce had been armed with a pistol. At their elbows lay their magazine revolvers fully loaded.
Following the first snapping of the twig there was a long interval of silence. Then the staccato rattle of a small dislodged rock bounding down the hillside set all hearts to beating once more.
The attack was evidently not to be delayed many moments now.
It came with the suddenness of the bursting of a tropical storm.
Hardly had the boys drawn their breath following the breathless suspense that ensued on the falling of the rock before there was a wild yell, and half a dozen dark forms burst out of the trees. They were received with a fusillade, but none of them were hurt, as they all vanished almost as quickly as they had appeared.
“That was just to see if we was on the lookout,” said old Bart in a whisper. “I reckon they found we was. Look out for the next attack.”
They hadn’t long to wait. There was a rattle of falling stones as the main body rushed down the hillside.
“Now!”