Luncheon was forgotten. When a large supply of fruits and water, with fuel sufficient for perhaps a week of flameless fire, had been stored in the coolness and protection of the caves, Grenville immediately set to work constructing the shells to fill with powder.
This was a task involving much difficult cutting. For this employment his tools were not encouragingly suited. Of fuse, Elaine had finally produced as much as all his bombs would require, with lengths for the cannon as well.
The gun was finally charged and primed, after Grenville had rebound it to its "carriage." It was lodged in the rocks, where it covered the trail, and stones were piled abundantly about it. A fuse was laid to the vent.
From time to time both the exiles had crept towards the one lone tree on the wall, to observe the on-coming boat. By three o'clock of the afternoon the wind had practically failed, but the craft drifted slowly forward. It was plainly in sight by then—a fair-sized affair with a singular out-rigger and a queer, unmistakable sail. So far as Grenville could determine at the distance, there were three or four natives aboard.
"If none of them ever go back to tell the tale," he announced, a bit grimly to Elaine, "we may be all right for quite a time."
She understood at once.
"You think, if they leave, they may return here later—with a larger force—if they find we are ready for a fight?"
"If they do, we'll not be at home—provided the boat can be finished."
Elaine was evidently thinking much—of the battle that might presently ensue, with all its unknown results.
"They'd kill us if they could, I suppose, if only to cut—— They are not human beings, really—the kind we ought not to shoot?"