"They went back toward the sawmill and presently they heard a terrible cry of rage, a cry given for the fallen warrior.
"I don't think I shall ever grow used to such yells," said Grosvenor, shuddering.
"I've never grown used to 'em yet," said Robert.
The shout was followed by a half dozen shots, and a bullet or two whistled overhead, but it was clear that all of them had been fired at random. The warriors, aware that the chance of surprise had passed, were venting their wrath in noise. Willet suddenly raised his own rifle and pulled the trigger. Another dusky figure sprang up and then fell prone.
"They were coming too close," he said. "That'll be a warning. Now back, lads, to the breastwork!"
As they retreated the shots and yells increased, the forest ringing with the whoops, while bullets pattered on the stumps. Both Grosvenor and Robert were glad when they were inside the logs once more, and Colden was glad to see them.
"For all I knew you had fallen," he said, "and I can't spare you."
"We left our mark on 'em," said the saturnine Black Rifle. "They know we're waiting for 'em."
The demonstration increased in volume, the whole forest ringing with the fierce whoops. Stout nerves even had good excuse for being shaken, and Colden paled a little, but his soul was high.
"Sound and fury but no attack," he said.