The Nameless Island Part 19

The mulatto raised his revolver and fired, and a huge native sprang a good three feet in the air and tumbled on his face. But ere Quexo could repeat his shot a triple-barbed spear pierced his shoulder. He fell, the weapon still embedded in his flesh.

The man who had thrown the lance drew a stone knife, and threw himself upon the prostrate mulatto, while the third native raised his club to complete the business.

With admirable presence of mind Quexo shot the man with the club, who in his fall completely covered the hapless mulatto.

Alarmed by the first shot, Mr. McKay and the two lads ran to the aid of their companion, but ere they emerged from the bush a third shot rang out, and the savage who had hurled the spear at the mulatto fell shot through the head.

Then as Andy rushed to the spot where Quexo lay, Jimmy Blight stepped from the cover of a group of palm trees.

"Not a bad shot, eh, boss?" he exclaimed, as he thrust fresh cartridges into his revolver. "You'd best get your young fellow on board as quick as you can, I reckon."

Quexo was groaning dismally, now the actual struggle was over. The triple spear-head had made a ghastly wound in his shoulder, for in his fall the haft had broken off short. Mr. McKay managed to extract it skilfully.

In the midst of their misfortunes the roar of the combatants came nearer and nearer. The enemy had rallied; the savages were driving back their attackers. Already men were streaming by, flying for their lives.

"Guess we'd best hook it," exclaimed Blight.

"Bear a hand, Andy," said his father, as he pointed to his helpless servant.

"Don't be a fool, boss!" shouted the ex-pearler, who was already beginning to retire. "He's about done for, and we'll be the same if we stop. Come along!"

"Not I," replied Mr. McKay st.u.r.dily. "You go if you want to. Come on, Andy, move him across to yonder thicket. We'll make a last stand here if it comes to the worst."

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 pa.s.sed, 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.

Without a moment's hesitation the savage uttered a loud shout and ran straight in the direction of the white men, followed, at a distance of about twenty paces, by some fifty yelling natives.

"You take that fellow, Blight!" exclaimed Mr. McKay quietly.

Blight raised his rifle to his shoulder, took a sight in the centre of the chief's broad chest, and pressed the trigger.

"Missed, by smoke!" he cried, for the man came on steadily.

It was the work of a few seconds to open and close the bolt of the rifle, and in that time the chief still ran on; but before Blight could discharge his weapon a second time, the native's knees appeared to give way, and he pitched headlong on his face.

All four men were firing fast into the hostile press. The rush was stopped, although some of the savages came near enough to hurl their spears, several of which stuck hi the trunks of the palm trees behind which the little band took shelter.

Many of the attackers fled for safety, others did not deign to run, but retired slowly, brandishing their weapons at their enemies as they did so. Some paid for their rashness, for it was a case of fighting for existence, and every native put out of action told.

"The beggars are going to corral us," exclaimed Blight. "See, they are running round to our left."

A couple of volleys drove the natives back still farther, yet without attempting to take cover they continued their tactics of trying to cut off their enemies' retreat.

The South Sea Islanders rarely resort to strategy in actual fighting.

They may, indeed, take steps to surround their enemies, and then charge fearlessly to close quarters.

The white men were even now surrounded, for the advanced body, having failed to prevent the embarkation of the discomfited invaders, had been attracted by the sound of the firing and had completed the hostile cordon.

In the lull that ensued, Mr. McKay contrived to place a temporary bandage over Quexo's shoulder. The mulatto was still unconscious, but showed no symptoms of having been poisoned by the spear thrust.

"I wonder what Hoppy is doing?" remarked Terence, after moistening his parched lips with a draught from his water-bottle. "I guess he's in a terrible stew."

"He may manage to make our friends attempt another attack. If so, we can bolt for the sh.o.r.e; though I'm not going to put much faith in that," replied Mr. McKay. "They've had too much of a licking, I fancy."

"Pity you didn't let us burn those blessed canoes, boss; these black rascals will be able to follow our craft now."

"Yes, I admit I erred on the side of mercy, Mr. Blight," was the reply.

"It's my fault, and I must take the blame."

"That comes o' being so mighty particular," retorted the ex-pearler bluntly. "If we come out o' this I guess your opinion of a n.i.g.g.e.r will have an almighty change. Now, stand by, for here they come."

"Don't be taken alive, lads," continued Mr. McKay, and the next instant the rifle-fire reopened.

Upon the dense ma.s.ses of natives every shot told, yet having only one rifle for each front the fire was not sufficiently extended to keep the advancing enemy at bay.

The air was filled with shouts and shrieks, while stones and spears flew in deadly showers. Once the magazines were empty there was no time to recharge. The heated rifles were flung aside and the revolvers were brought into use.

The four men shot rapidly and well, the heavy lead bullets stopping the headlong rush far more effectively than did the nickel rifle ammunition.

Once again the attack failed, the savages drawing off and leaving at least fifty of their number dead or wounded on the field. Not one of the enemy had got within twenty yards of the death-dealing weapons of the white men.

"Now, boss," gasped Blight, as he bound a discoloured silk handkerchief round a spear-scratch on his left wrist. "Shall we make a bolt for it?

We can fight our way to the sh.o.r.e."

Mr. McKay pointed to the still unconscious Quexo.

"Put a bullet through his head. He won't feel it. Why should we chuck away our chance for a wounded n.i.g.g.e.r?"

"Look here, Mr. Blight, I've told you before you can go if you want to.