“Golly, Marse Frank!” cried Pomp, “dey jes’ mean fo’ to hab our scalps, don’t dey?”
“You are right!” said Frank. “When our ammunition gives out it will be a serious question with us.”
“Dar amn’t twenty rounds more, Marse Frank!”
The young inventor’s face paled.
“You don’t mean it?”
“Dat am right, sah!”
“Then I am afraid we are lost!” groaned Frank. But suddenly his face brightened.
“What is that?”
Frank pointed up the shore.
A large body of men, also Esquimaux, were coming on the run.