Something in Mr. McKay's reply must have appealed to the better nature of this low-down specimen of the white race, for, turning swiftly on his heel, he returned. Kneeling beside the unconscious man he helped himself to his bandolier, revolver, and rifle.
Without another word the four men lifted Quexo to the shelter of the trees, and quietly and resolutely made ready to receive the horde of triumphant savages.
CHAPTER XIII
ELLERTON TO THE RESCUE
Already the last of the fugitives had passed, rushing blindly for the shelter of their canoes, and the foremost of their pursuers were emerging from the clearing.
Mr. McKay, cool in the time of extreme peril, calculated that only about a hundred of their allies remained alive, while, making due allowance for the tremendous execution, there were at least a thousand bloodthirsty foes. Four against a thousand!
"Don't fire yet!" he whispered.
The main body of the savages crossed the clearing at breakneck rate, and disappeared in the direction of the beach, but others came at a more leisurely pace, examining those of the fugitives who had fallen. Those who showed signs of life were bound hand and foot, for what purpose the white men had no doubt whatever.
Presently the keen eye of one of the savages caught a glimpse of one of the rifle barrels. The man was evidently a chief, for, in addition to his coat of paint, he wore a short cloak of feathers.