Small shot whistled through the air, pattering against rocks, through leaves, and dropping like hail into the river. The natives had fired a volley from their old muzzle loaders, which were almost useless at the distance. Then the attacking party, evidently disappointed and mystified, withdrew again into the forest.
The defenders left their post and came round McAuliffe, with the unimportant exception of Denton. A sharp query at once arose, 'Where's that derned skunk, Peter?'
The half-breed jerked his head towards the trees, and muttered, 'He no good.'
'The mean devil. He can shoot well if he wants. I'm going to track him up, then tie him down to his place.'
'What's the good, Alf?' said Winton. 'Let him alone. He won't be any good if you do find him.'
The other yielded. 'Well, well, I guess you're right. Now I wonder what scheme the rascals t'other side mean working.'
'Get canoe,' said Justin, abruptly.
'I reckon. Then they'll try their dirtiest to land. I shall have my chores to see to soon as they cross the Jordan. How many boats, Justin?'
The half-breed held up a hand, then replied, 'Canoe; one boat.'
'Five canoes and a York,' said McAuliffe, interpreting the sign language. 'That's rough. There's not another tribe in the district with a York boat. This is an old one; used to belong to the Company. It may be leaky, still I reckon it'll do the trip.'