Off spun the hat, with a bullet-hole clean through the middle, and a violent tingling jar in my arm told me that part of the barrel had apparently gone with it. I dropped the gun, and without a moment's hesitation jumped high into the air, crashing down full-length amongst the reeds.
It was a trick highly popular with the ingenious Indians of Bolivia, who by this means tempt their guileless and well-pleased opponent to come within reach of the knife which they invariably carry. Something of the same purpose was at the back of my mind, and it was with a grim smile of satisfaction that I discovered that one of my gun barrels was still undamaged. Lying there, hidden by the thick vegetation, I quickly extracted the cartridge from the other. Then, stealthily as a puma, I wriggled my way forward until I reached the edge of the island. Parting the rushes, I peered cautiously through.
From the strip of land away to my left a small boat was just putting out into the creek. It contained two men, and even at that distance I could see that one of them was without doubt the "Eyetalian" aristocrat whom Billy had stalked on the previous evening. The other, who carried a rifle in his hand, I put down as my Park Lane friend.
For a lop-sided sculler, the big chap certainly made his boat travel. It fairly bounded towards me across the creek, the passenger crouching in the bows, his gun ready for immediate action. Like Robert Brace's friend, they were evidently coming to "mak' siccar."
With a gentle smile I cuddled myself back under cover, pushing forward my gun so that only the extreme point of the barrel protruded through the reeds. There was no mercy in my heart, though, as a matter of fact, I felt little personal resentment against either of my approaching visitors. It was Northcote, not me, that they were really trying to shoot, and their reasons were probably very commendable. Nevertheless, it was my intention to plug them both as accurately as possible so soon as they came within effective range of my twelve-bore. If there was any subsequent trouble, I had a bullet-hole through my hat to give evidence in my favour; and after all, when certain death is in one side of the balance, it's not much good bothering about the other.
Nearer and nearer they came, the man in the bows peering forward and searching the island with a keen gaze. I placed another cartridge ready beside me, and then, levelling my gun straight at his chest, put my finger on the trigger. It was at that moment that the boat stopped.
For one moment I thought my trick had been discovered, and I as nearly as possible loosed off without waiting for any further developments. Then, just as I was hesitating, there came the unmistakable crack of a Mauser pistol, and I saw a big splinter fly up off the side of the boat. With an oath the big fellow swung round and sculled off furiously down the creek, while his companion, raising his rifle, blazed back in the direction from whence the bullet had come.
I can tell you I didn't waste any time. Wriggling back out of my ambush, I crawled swiftly through the rushes to the farther side of the island, and there, as I expected, I saw the faithful William. He had shipped his oars and, kneeling in his boat, was just taking a careful aim after the retreating pleasure-party.
"Chuck it, Billy!" I sang out.
Down went the pistol, and in another moment, with a triumphant shout, he was pulling in towards the island.