The sailor knew so accurately the position of his reliable sentinels
that he could follow each phase of the imaginary conflict on the other
side of the island.
The first outbreak of desultory firing died away
amidst a chorus of protest from every feathered inhabitant of the isle,
so Jenks assumed that the Dyaks had gathered again on the beach after
riddling the scarecrows with bullets or slashing them with their heavy
razor-edged parangs, Malay swords with which experts can fell a stout
sapling at a single blow.
A hasty council was probably held, and, notwithstanding their fear of
the silent company in the hollow, an advance was ultimately made along
the beach. Within a few yards they encountered the invisible cord of
the third spring-gun. There was a report, and another fierce outbreak
of musketry. This was enough. Not a man would move a step nearer that
abode of the dead. The next commotion arose on the ridge near the North
Cape.
"At this rate of progress," said Jenks to the girl, "they will not
reach our house until daylight."
"I almost wish they were here," was the quiet reply. "I find this
waiting and listening to be trying to the nerves."
They were lying on a number of ragged garments hastily spread on the
ledge, and peering intently into the moonlit area of Prospect Park. The
great rock itself was shrouded in somber shadows. Even if they stood up
none could see them from the ground, so dense was the darkness
enveloping them.
He turned slightly and took her hand. It was cool and moist. It no more
trembled than his own.
"The Dyaks are far more scared than you," he murmured with a laugh.
"Cruel and courageous as they are, they dare not face a spook."
"Then what a pity it is we cannot conjure up a ghost for their benefit!
All the spirits I have ever read about were ridiculous. Why cannot one
be useful occasionally?"
The question set him thinking. Unknown to the girl, the materials for a
dramatic apparition were hidden amidst the bushes near the well. He
cudgeled his brains to remember the stage effects of juvenile days; but
these needed limelight, blue flares, mirrors, phosphorus.
The absurdity of hoping to devise any such accessories whilst perched
on a ledge in a remote island--a larger reef of the thousands in the
China Sea--tickled him.
"What is it?" asked Iris.
He repeated his list of missing stage properties. They had nothing to
do but to wait, and people in the very crux and maelstrom of existence
usually discuss trivial things.
"I don't know anything about phosphorus," said the girl, "but you can
obtain queer results from sulphur, and there is an old box of Norwegian
matches resting at this moment on the shelf in my room. Don't you
remember? They were in your pocket, and you were going to throw them
away. Why, what are you doing?"
For Jenks had cast the rope-ladder loose and was evidently about to
descend.
"Have no fear," he said; "I will not be away five minutes."
"If you are going down I must come with you. I will not be left here
alone."
"Please do not stop me," he whispered earnestly. "You must not come. I
will take no risk whatever. If you remain here you can warn me
instantly. With both of us on the ground we will incur real danger. I
want you to keep a sharp lookout towards Turtle Beach in case the Dyaks
come that way. Those who are crossing the island will not reach us for
a long time."
She yielded, though unwillingly. She was tremulous with anxiety on his
account.
He vanished without another word. She next saw him in the moonlight
near the well. He was rustling among the shrubs, and he returned to the
rock with something white in his arms, which he seemingly deposited at
the mouth of the cave. He went back to the well and carried another
similar burthen. Then he ran towards the house. The doorway was not
visible from the ledge, and she passed a few horrible moments until a
low hiss beneath caught her ear. She could tell by the creak of the
rope-ladder that he was ascending. At last he reached her side, and she
murmured, with a gasping sob--
"Don't go away again. I cannot stand it."
He thought it best to soothe her agitation by arousing interest. Still
hauling in the ladder with one hand, he held out the other, on which
luminous wisps were writhing like glow-worms' ghosts.
"You are responsible," he said. "You gave me an excellent idea, and I
was obliged to carry it out."
"What have you done?"
"Arranged a fearsome bogey in the cave."
"But how?"
"It was not exactly a pleasant operation, but the only laws of
necessity are those which must be broken."
She understood that he did not wish her to question him further.
Perhaps curiosity, now that he was safe, might have vanquished her
terror, and led to another demand for enlightenment, but at that
instant the sound of an angry voice and the crunching of coral away to
the left drove all else from her mind.
"They are coming by way of the beach, after all," whispered Jenks.
He was mistaken, in a sense. Another outburst of intermittent firing
among the trees on the north of the ridge showed that some, at least,
of the Dyaks were advancing by their former route. The appearance of
the Dyak chief on the flat belt of shingle, with his right arm slung
across his breast, accompanied by not more than half a dozen followers,
showed that a few hardy spirits had dared to pass the Valley of Death
with all its nameless terrors.
They advanced cautiously enough, as though dreading a surprise. The
chief carried a bright parang in his left hand; the others were armed
with guns, their swords being thrust through belts. Creeping forward on
tip-toe, though their distant companions were making a tremendous row,
they looked a murderous gang as they peered across the open space, now
brilliantly illuminated by the moon.
Jenks had a sudden intuition that the right thing to do now was to
shoot the whole party. He dismissed the thought at once. All his
preparations were governed by the hope that the pirates might abandon
their quest after hours of fruitless search. It would be most unwise,
he told himself, to precipitate hostilities. Far better avoid a
conflict altogether, if that were possible, than risk the immediate
discovery of his inaccessible retreat.
In other words he made a grave mistake, which shows how a man may err
when over-agonized by the danger of the woman he loves. The bold course
was the right one. By killing the Dyak leader he would have deprived
the enemy of the dominating influence in this campaign of revenge. When
the main body, already much perturbed by the unseen and intangible
agencies which opened fire at them in the wood, arrived in Prospect
Park to find only the dead bodies of their chief and his small force,
their consternation could be turned into mad panic by a vigorous
bombardment from the rock.
Probably, in less than an hour after their landing, the whole tribe
would have rushed pell-mell to the boats, cursing the folly which led
them to this devil-haunted island. But it serves no good purpose to say
what might have been. As it was the Dyaks, silent now and moving with
the utmost caution, passed the well, and were about to approach the
cave when one of them saw the house.
Instantly they changed their tactics. Retreating hastily to the shade
of the opposite cliff they seemed to await the coming of
reinforcements. The sailor fancied that a messenger was dispatched by
way of the north sands to hurry up the laggards, because the distant
firing slackened, and, five minutes later, a fierce outbreak of yells
among the trees to the right heralded a combined rush on the Belle Vue
Castle.
The noise made by the savages was so great--the screams of bewildered
birds circling overhead so incessant--that Jenks was compelled to speak
quite loudly when he said to Iris--
"They must think we sleep soundly not to be disturbed by the volleys
they have fired already."
She would have answered, but he placed a restraining hand on her
shoulder, for the Dyaks quickly discovering that the hut was empty, ran
towards the cave and thus came in full view.
As well as Jenks could judge, the foremost trio of the yelping horde
were impaled on the bayonets of the cheval de frise, learning
too late its formidable nature. The wounded men shrieked in agony, but
their cries were drowned in a torrent of amazed shouts from their
companions. Forthwith there was a stampede towards the well, the cliff,
the beaches, anywhere to get away from that awesome cavern where ghosts
dwelt and men fell maimed at the very threshold. The sailor, leaning as
far over the edge of the rock as the girl's expostulations would
permit, heard a couple of men groaning beneath, whilst a third limped
away with frantic and painful haste.
"What is it?" whispered Iris, eager herself to witness the tumult.
"What has happened?"
"They have been routed by a box of matches and a few dried bones," he
answered.
There was no time for further speech. He was absorbed in estimating the
probable number of the Dyaks. Thus far, he had seen about fifty.
Moreover, he did not wish to acquaint Iris with the actual details of
the artifice that had been so potent. Her allusion to the box of
water-sodden Tändstickors gave him the notion of utilizing as an active
ally the bleached remains of the poor fellow who had long ago fallen a
victim to this identical mob of cut-throats or their associates. He
gathered the principal bones from their resting-place near the well,
rubbed them with the ends of the matches after damping the sulphur
again, and arranged them with ghastly effect on the pile of rubbish at
the further end of the cave, creeping under the cheval de frise
for the purpose.
Though not so vivid as he wished, the pale-glimmering headless skeleton
in the intense darkness of the interior was appalling enough in all
conscience. Fortunately the fumes of the sulphur fed on the bony
substance. They endured a sufficient time to scare every Dyak who
caught a glimpse of the monstrous object crouching in luminous horror
within the dismal cavern.
Not even the stirring exhortations of the chief, whose voice was raised
in furious speech, could induce his adherents to again approach that
affrighting spot. At last the daring scoundrel himself, still wielding
his naked sword, strode right up to the very doorway. Stricken with
sudden stupor, he gazed at the fitful gleams within. He prodded the
cheval de frise with the parang. Here was something definite and
solid. Then he dragged one of the wounded men out into the moonlight.
Again Jenks experienced an itching desire to send a bullet through the
Dyak's head; again he resisted the impulse. And so passed that which is
vouchsafed by Fate to few men--a second opportunity.
Another vehement harangue by the chief goaded some venturesome spirits
into carrying their wounded comrade out of sight, presumably to the
hut. Inspired by their leader's fearless example, they even removed the
third injured Dyak from the vicinity of the cave, but the celerity of
their retreat caused the wretch to bawl in agony.
Their next undertaking was no sooner appreciated by the sailor than he
hurriedly caused Iris to shelter herself beneath the tarpaulin, whilst
he cowered close to the floor of the ledge, looking only through the
screen of tall grasses. They kindled a fire near the well. Soon its
ruddy glare lit up the dark rock with fantastic flickerings, and drew
scintillations from the weapons and ornaments of the hideously
picturesque horde gathered in its vicinity.
They spoke a language of hard vowels and nasal resonance, and ate what
he judged to be dry fish, millets, and strips of tough preserved meat,
which they cooked on small iron skewers stuck among the glowing embers.
His heart sank as he counted sixty-one, all told, assembled within
forty yards of the ledge. Probably several others were guarding the
boats or prowling about the island. Indeed, events proved that more
than eighty men had come ashore in three large sampans, roomy and fleet
craft, well fitted for piratical excursions up river estuaries or along
a coast.
They were mostly bare-legged rascals, wearing Malay hats, loose jackets
reaching to the knee, and sandals. One man differed essentially from
the others. He was habited in the conventional attire of an Indian
Mahommedan, and his skin was brown, whilst the swarthy Dyaks were
yellow beneath the dirt. Jenks thought, from the manner in which his
turban was tied, that he must be a Punjabi Mussulman--very likely an
escaped convict from the Andamans.
The most careful scrutiny did not reveal any arms of precision. They
all carried muzzle-loaders, either antiquated flintlocks, or guns
sufficiently modern to be fitted with nipples for percussion caps.
Each Dyak, of course, sported a parang and dagger-like kriss; a few
bore spears, and about a dozen shouldered a long straight piece of
bamboo. The nature of this implement the sailor could not determine at
the moment. When the knowledge did come, it came so rapidly that he was
saved from many earlier hours of abiding; dread, for one of those
innocuous-looking weapons was fraught with more quiet deadliness than a
Gatling gun.
In the neighborhood of the fire an animated discussion took place.
Though it was easy to see that the chief was all-paramount, his
fellow-tribesmen exercised a democratic right of free speech and
outspoken opinion.
Flashing eyes and expressive hands were turned towards cave and hut.
Once, when the debate grew warm, the chief snatched up a burning branch
and held it over the blackened embers of the fire extinguished by
Jenks. He seemed to draw some definite conclusion from an examination
of the charcoal, and the argument thenceforth proceeded with less
emphasis. Whatever it was that he said evidently carried conviction.
Iris, nestling close to the sailor, whispered--
"Do you know what he has found out?"
"I can only guess that he can tell by the appearance of the burnt wood
how long it is since it was extinguished. Clearly they agree with him."
"Then they know we are still here?"
"Either here or gone within a few hours. In any case they will make a
thorough search of the island at daybreak."
"Will it be dawn soon?"
"Yes. Are you tired?"
"A little cramped--that is all."
"Don't think I am foolish--can you manage to sleep?"
"Sleep! With those men so near!"
"Yes. We do not know how long they will remain. We must keep up our
strength. Sleep, next to food and drink, is a prime necessity."
"If it will please you, I will try," she said, with such sweet
readiness to obey his slightest wish that the wonder is he did not kiss
her then and there. By previous instruction she knew exactly what to
do. She crept quietly back until well ensconced in the niche widened
and hollowed for her accommodation. There, so secluded was she from the
outer world of horror and peril, that the coarse voices beneath only
reached her in a murmur. Pulling one end of the tarpaulin over her, she
stretched her weary limbs on a litter of twigs and leaves, commended
herself and the man she loved to God's keeping, and, wonderful though
it may seem, was soon slumbering peacefully.
The statement may sound passing strange to civilized ears, accustomed
only to the routine of daily life and not inured to danger and wild
surroundings. But the soldier who has snatched a hasty doze in the
trenches, the sailor who has heard a fierce gale buffeting the walls of
his frail ark, can appreciate the reason why Iris, weary and surfeited
with excitement, would have slept were she certain that the next
sunrise would mark her last hour on earth.
Jenks, too, composed himself for a brief rest. He felt assured that
there was not the remotest chance of their lofty perch being found out
before daybreak, and the first faint streaks of dawn would awaken him.
These two, remote, abandoned, hopelessly environed by a savage enemy,
closed their eyes contentedly and awaited that which the coming day
should bring forth.
When the morning breeze swept over the ocean and the stars were
beginning to pale before the pink glory flung broadcast through the sky
by the yet invisible sun, the sailor was aroused by the quiet
fluttering of a bird about to settle on the rock, but startled by the
sight of him.
His faculties were at once on the alert, though he little realized the
danger betokened by the bird's rapid dart into the void. Turning first
to peer at Iris, he satisfied himself that she was still asleep. Her
lips were slightly parted in a smile; she might be dreaming of summer
and England. He noiselessly wormed his way to the verge of the rock and
looked down through the grass-roots.
The Dyaks were already stirring. Some were replenishing the fire,
others were drawing water, cooking, eating, smoking long thin-stemmed
pipes with absurdly small bowls, or oiling their limbs and weapons with
impartial energy. The chief yet lay stretched on the sand, but, when
the first beams of the sun gilded the waters, a man stooped over the
prostrate form and said something that caused the sleeper to rise
stiffly, supporting himself on his uninjured arm. They at once went off
together towards Europa Point.
"They have found the boat," thought Jenks. "Well, they are welcome to
all the information it affords."
The pair soon returned. Another Dyak advanced to exhibit one of Jenks's
spring-gun attachments. The savages had a sense of humor. Several
laughed heartily when the cause of their overnight alarms was revealed.
The chief alone preserved a gloomy and saturnine expression.
He gave some order at which they all hung back sheepishly. Cursing them
in choice Malay, the chief seized a thick faggot and strode in the
direction of the cave. Goaded into activity by his truculent demeanor,
some followed him, and Jenks--unable to see, but listening
anxiously--knew that they were tearing the cheval de frise from
its supports. Nevertheless none of the working party entered the
excavation. They feared the parched bones that shone by night.
"Poor J.S.!" murmured the sailor. "If his spirit still lingers near the
scene of his murder he will thank me for dragging him into the fray. He
fought them living and he can scare them dead."
As he had not been able to complete the communicating shaft it was not
now of vital importance should the Dyaks penetrate to the interior. Yet
he thanked the good luck that had showered such a heap of rubbish over
the spot containing his chief stores and covering the vein of gold.
Wild as these fellows were, they well knew the value of the precious
metal, and if by chance they lighted upon such a well-defined lode they
might not quit the island for weeks.
At last, on a command from the chief, the Dyaks scattered in various
directions. Some turned towards Europa Point, but the majority went to
the east along Turtle Beach or by way of the lagoon. Prospect Park was
deserted. They were scouring both sections of the island in full force.
The quiet watcher on the ledge took no needless risks. Though it was
impossible to believe any stratagem had been planned for his special
benefit an accident might betray him. With the utmost circumspection he
rose on all fours and with comprehensive glance examined trees,
plateau, and both strips of beach for signs of a lurking foe. He need
have no fear. Of all places in the island the Dyaks least imagined that
their quarry had lain all night within earshot of their encampment.
At this hour, when the day had finally conquered the night, and the
placid sea offered a turquoise path to the infinite, the scene was
restful, gently bewitching. He knew that, away there to the north, P.
and O. steamers, Messageries Maritimes, and North German Lloyd liners
were steadily churning the blue depths en route to Japan or the
Straits Settlements. They carried hundreds of European passengers, men
and women, even little children, who were far removed from the
knowledge that tragedies such as this Dyak horror lay almost in their
path. People in London were just going to the theater. He recalled the
familiar jingle of the hansoms scampering along Piccadilly, the more
stately pace of the private carriages crossing the Park. Was it
possible that in the world of today--the world of telegraphs and
express trains, of the newspaper and the motor car--two inoffensive
human beings could be done to death so shamefully and openly as would
be the fate of Iris and himself if they fell into the hands of these
savages! It was inconceivable, intolerable! But it was true!
And then, by an odd trick of memory, his mind reverted, not to the
Yorkshire manor he learnt to love as a boy, but to a little French
inland town where he once passed a summer holiday intent on improving
his knowledge of the language. Interior France is even more remote,
more secluded, more provincial, than agricultural England. There no
breath of the outer world intrudes. All is laborious, circumspect, a
trifle poverty-stricken, but beautified by an Arcadian simplicity. Yet
one memorable day, when walking by the banks of a river, he came upon
three men dragging from out a pool the water-soaked body of a young
girl into whose fair forehead the blunt knob often seen on the back of
an old-fashioned axe had been driven with cruel force. So, even in that
tiny old-world hamlet, murder and lust could stalk hand in hand.
He shuddered. Why did such a hateful vision trouble him? Resolutely
banning the raven-winged specter, he slid back down the ledge and
gently wakened Iris. She sat up instantly and gazed at him with
wondering eyes.
Fearful lest she should forget her surroundings, he placed a warning
finger on his lips.
"Oh," she said in a whisper, "are they still here?"
He told her what had happened, and suggested that they should have
something to eat whilst the coast was clear beneath. She needed no
second bidding, for the long vigil of the previous night had made her
very hungry, and the two breakfasted right royally on biscuit, cold
fowl, ham, and good water.
In this, the inner section of their refuge, they could be seen only by
a bird or by a man standing on the distant rocky shelf that formed the
southern extremity of the opposite cliff, and the sailor kept a close
lookout in that direction.
Iris was about to throw the remains of the feast into an empty oil-tin
provided for refuse when Jenks restrained her.
"No," he said, smilingly. "Scraps should be the first course next time.
We must not waste an atom of food."
"How thoughtless of me!" she exclaimed. "Please tell me you think they
will go away today."
But the sailor flung himself flat on the ledge and grasped a
Lee-Metford.
"Be still, on your life," he said. "Squeeze into your corner. There is
a Dyak on the opposite cliff."
True enough, a man had climbed to that unhappily placed rocky table,
and was shouting something to a confrère high on the cliff over their
heads. As yet he had not seen them, nor even noticed the place where
they were concealed. The sailor imagined, from the Dyak's gestures,
that he was communicating the uselessness of further search on the
western part of the island.
When the conversation ceased, he hoped the loud-voiced savage would
descend. But no! The scout looked into the valley, at the well, the
house, the cave. Still he did not see the ledge. At that unlucky moment
three birds, driven from the trees on the crest by the passage of the
Dyaks, flew down the face of the cliff and began a circling quest for
some safe perch on which to alight.
Jenks swore with an emphasis not the less earnest because it was mute,
and took steady aim at the Dyak's left breast. The birds fluttered
about in ever smaller circles. Then one of them dropped easily on to
the lip of the rock. Instantly his bright eyes encountered those of the
man, and he darted off with a scream that brought his mates after him.
The Dyak evidently noted the behavior of the birds--his only lore was
the reading of such signs--and gazed intently at the ledge. Jenks he
could not distinguish behind the screen of grass. He might perhaps see
some portion of the tarpaulin covering the stores, but at the distance
it must resemble a weather-beaten segment of the cliff. Yet something
puzzled him. After a steady scrutiny he turned and yelled to others on
the beach.
The crucial moment had arrived. Jenks pressed the trigger, and the Dyak
hurtled through the air, falling headlong out of sight.
The sound of this, the first shot of real warfare, awoke Rainbow Island
into tremendous activity. The winged life of the place filled the air
with raucous cries, whilst shouting Dyaks scurried in all directions.
Several came into the valley. Those nearest the fallen man picked him
up and carried him to the well. He was quite dead, and, although amidst
his other injuries they soon found the bullet wound, they evidently did
not know whence the shot came, for those to whom he shouted had no
inkling of his motive, and the slight haze from the rifle was instantly
swept away by the breeze.
Iris could hear the turmoil beneath, and she tremulously asked--
"Are they going to attack us?"
"Not yet," was the reassuring answer. "I killed the fellow who saw us
before he could tell the others."
It was a bold risk, and he had taken it, though, now the Dyaks knew for
certain their prey had not escaped, there was no prospect of their
speedy departure. Nevertheless the position was not utterly hopeless.
None of the enemy could tell how or by whom their companion had been
shot. Many among the excited horde jabbering beneath actually looked at
the cliff over and over again, yet failed to note the potentialities of
the ledge, with its few tufts of grass growing where seeds had
apparently been blown by the wind or dropped by passing birds.
Jenks understood, of course, that the real danger would arise when they
visited the scene of their comrade's disaster. Even then the wavering
balance of chance might cast the issue in his favor. He could only
wait, with ready rifle, with the light of battle lowering in his eyes.
Of one thing at least he was certain--before they conquered him he
would levy a terrible toll.
He glanced back at Iris. Her face was pale beneath its mask of
sunbrown. She was bent over her Bible, and Jenks did not know that she
was reading the 91st Psalm. Her lips murmured--
"I will say unto the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress; my God, in
Him will I trust."
The chief was listening intently to the story of the Dyak who saw the
dead man totter and fall. He gave some quick order. Followed by a score
or more of his men he walked rapidly to the foot of the cliff where
they found the lifeless body.
And Iris read--
"Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow
that flieth by day."
Jenks stole one more hasty glance at her. The chief and the greater
number of his followers were out of sight behind the rocks. Some of
them must now be climbing to that fatal ledge. Was this the end?
Yet the girl, unconscious of the doom impending, kept her eyes
steadfastly fixed on the book.
"For He shall give His angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy
ways.
"They shall bear thee up in their hands, lest thou dash thy foot
against a stone....
"He shall call upon me, and I will answer him: I will be with him in
trouble: I will deliver him and honour him."
Iris did not apply the consoling words to herself. She closed the book
and bent forward sufficiently in her sheltering niche to permit her to
gaze with wistful tenderness upon the man whom she hoped to see
delivered and honored. She knew he would dare all for her sake. She
could only pray and hope. After reading those inspired verses she
placed implicit trust in the promise made. For He was good: His was the
mercy that "endureth forever." Enemies encompassed them with words of
hatred--fought against them without a cause--but there was One who
should "judge among the heathen" and "fill the places with dead
bodies."
Suddenly a clamor of discordant yells fell upon her ears. Jenks rose to
his knees. The Dyaks had discovered their refuge and were about to open
fire. He offered them a target lest perchance Iris were not thoroughly
screened.
"Keep close," he said. "They have found us. Lead will be flying around
soon."
She flinched back into the crevice; the sailor fell prone. Four bullets
spat into the ledge, of which three pierced the tarpaulin and one
flattened itself against the rock.
Then Jenks took up the tale. So curiously constituted was this man,
that although he ruthlessly shot the savage who first spied out their
retreat, he was swayed only by the dictates of stern necessity. There
was a feeble chance that further bloodshed might be averted. That
chance had passed. Very well. The enemy must start the dreadful game
about to be played. They had thrown the gage and he answered them. Four
times did the Lee-Metford carry death, unseen, almost unfelt, across
the valley.
Ere the fourth Dyak collapsed limply where he stood, others were there,
firing at the little puff of smoke above the grass. They got in a few
shots, most of which sprayed at various angles off the face of the
cliff. But they waited for no more. When the lever of the Lee-Metford
was shoved home for the fifth time the opposing crest was bare of all
opponents save two, and they lay motionless.
The fate of the flanking detachment was either unperceived or unheeded
by the Dyaks left in the vicinity of the house and well. Astounded by
the firing that burst forth in mid-air, Jenks had cleared the dangerous
rock before they realized that here, above their heads, were the white
man and the maid whom they sought.
With stupid zeal they blazed away furiously, only succeeding in
showering fragments of splintered stone into the Eagle's Nest. And the
sailor smiled. He quietly picked up an old coat, rolled it into a ball
and pushed it into sight amidst the grass. Then he squirmed round on
his stomach and took up a position ten feet away. Of course those who
still carried loaded guns discharged them at the bundle of rags,
whereupon Jenks thrust his rifle beyond the edge of the rock and leaned
over.
Three Dyaks fell before the remainder made up their minds to run. Once
convinced, however, that running was good for their health, they moved
with much celerity. The remaining cartridges in the magazine slackened
the pace of two of their number. Jenks dropped the empty weapon and
seized another. He stood up now and sent a quick reminder after the
rearmost pirate. The others had disappeared towards the locality where
their leader and his diminished troupe were gathered, not daring to
again come within range of the whistling Dum-dums. The sailor, holding
his rifle as though pheasant-shooting, bent forward and sought a
belated opponent, but in vain. In military phrase, the terrain
was clear of the enemy. There was no sound save the wailing of birds,
the soft sough of the sea, and the yelling of the three wounded men in
the house, who knew not what terrors threatened, and vainly bawled for
succor.
Again Jenks could look at Iris. Her face was bleeding. The sight
maddened him.
"My God!" he groaned, "are you wounded?"
She smiled bravely at him.
"It is nothing," she said. "A mere splash from the rock which cut my
forehead."
He dared not go to her. He could only hope that it was no worse, so he
turned to examine the valley once more for vestige of a living foe.