"Right on the 'spank,'" said Ray.
"Yes," continued Robert, "I got the idea from Ray. Well that one let out a howl. And then I peppered the next one in the leg, and he howled. Another one got it in the shoulder. They were mightily puzzled—not hearing anything—so they couldn't use their guns. They didn't wait to look round very long, but hiked out, running by right under my tree. Before they got away I hit six or seven—some of them limped as they ran."
"When we heard the stampede," said Grant Norris, "we didn't need Bob's whistle to tell us to come on. There were no voodoo skunks going to hang back for any more, after all that 'whoop-er-up.' We got into town without any more accidents, and—"
"That was mighty fortunate for the voodoos," drawled Ray. "But where's the pickaninnies?"
"Melie here, turned them over to a priest," said Norris. "We lost some time finding him."
Carlos had edged up, and I could see he wanted a word with me. So I led him toward the schooner's bow; and he told me his news, leaning on the rail.
"Duran, he is in the city," he said.
He had touched on the thing that was in my mind; for during Norris's and Robert's recital of their adventures, I was wondering where this white voodoo should be all that while. I was conscious that it was this man—or fiend—that was to continue to be the center and spring of all our interest to the end of the chapter.
"Have you seen him?" I asked.
"No, I have one friend in the city who see him," Carlos said. "He buy new picks, an' he buy pack-straps, for to carry things on thee back, and new rope an' pulleys."