Then by the commander’s orders the village and fleet of canoes was fired, and a dozen or so of rockets went screaming and spitting among the thick mountain jungle, doing no damage to the natives, but terrifying them more than a heavy shell fire. *****
“Let us away from here, Nuta,” said Martin, “‘tis not safe. In the hut by the side of the big pool we can rest till the ship has gone and our people return. And I shall bind thy arm up anew.”
The woman obeyed him silently, and in a few minutes they were skirting the side of the mountain by a narrow leaf-strewn path, taking the opposite direction to that followed by the two officers and bluejackets. Half an hour’s walk brought them to the river bank, which was clothed with tall spear-grass. Still following the path, they presently emerged out into the open before a deep, spacious pool, at the further end of which was a dilapidated and deserted hut. Here the woman, faint with the pain of her wound, sank down, and Martin brought her water to drink, and then proceeded to re-examine and properly set her broken arm.
The two officers—the second lieutenant and a ruddy-faced, fair-haired midshipman named Walters—had hardly proceeded a hundred yards along the beach, when the boy stopped.
“Oh, Mr. Grayling, let us turn back and go the other way. There’s a big river runs into the next bay, with a sort of a lake about a mile up; I saw it in the plan of the island, this morning. We might get a duck or two there, sir.”
“Any way you like,” replied the officer, turning about, “and walking along the beach will be better than climbing up the mountain in the beastly heat for the sake of a few tough pigeons.”
Followed by the three bluejackets, who were armed with rifles, they set off along the hard white sand. In a few minutes they had rounded the headland on the north side and were out of sight of the ship. For quite a mile they tramped over the sand, till they came to the mouth of the river, which flowed swiftly and noisily over a shallow bar. A short search revealed a narrow path leading up along the bank, first through low thicket scrub, and then through high spear-grass. Further back, amid the dense forest, they could hear the deep notes of the wild pigeons, but as young Walters was intent on getting a duck they took no heed, but pressed steadily on.
“By jove! what a jolly fine sheet of water!” whispered the midshipman as they emerged out from the long grass and saw the deep, placid pool lying before them; then he added disappointedly, “but not a sign of a duck.”
“Never mind,” said Grayling consolingly, as he sat down on the bank and wiped his heated face, “we’ll get plenty of pigeons, anyway. But first of all I’m going to have something to eat and drink. Open that bag, Williams, and you, Morris and Jones, keep your ears cocked and your eyes skinned. It’s lovely and quiet here, but I wouldn’t like to get a poisoned arrow into my back whilst drinking bottled beer.”
“I’m going to have a swim before I eat anything,” said Walters, with a laugh. “Won’t you, sir?” he asked, as he began undressing.
“Looks very tempting,” replied the officer, “but I’m too hot. Take my advice and wait a bit till you’re cooler.”
The youngster only laughed, and, having stripped, took a header from the bank, and then swam out into the centre of the pool where it was deepest.
“Oh, do come in, sir,” he cried; “it’s just splendid. There’s a bit of a current here and the water is delightfully cool.”
Martin was aroused from his sleep by the sound or voices. He seized his rifle, bent over his wife, and whispered to her to awake; then crawling on his hands and knees from the hut he reached the bank and looked out, just as young Walters dived into the water.
Hardened murderer as he was, he felt a thrill of horror, for he knew that the pool was a noted haunt of alligators, and to attempt to swim across it meant certain death.
His wife touched his arm, and crouching beside him, her black eyes filled with a deadly hatred, she showed her white teeth and gave a low, hissing laugh.
“Before one can count ten he will be in the jaws,” she said, with savage joy.
“Nuta,” whispered Martin hoarsely, “‘tis but a boy,” and the veins stood out on his bronzed forehead as his hand closed tighter around his rifle.
“What wouldst thou do, fool?” said the woman fiercely as she seized the weapon by the barrel; “think of thy son who died but yesterday… ah! ah! look! look!”
Tearing the rifle from her grasp he followed the direction of her eyes; a swiftly-moving black snout showed less than thirty yards from the unconscious bather, who was now swimming leisurely to the bank.
“He must not die,” he muttered; “‘tis but a boy!” Then turning to the woman he spoke aloud. “Quick! run to the forest; I shall follow.”
Again she sought to stay his hand; he dashed her aside, raised the rifle to his shoulder and took a quick but steady aim; a second later the loud report rang out, and the monster, struck on his bony head by the heavy bullet, sank in alarm; and then, ere Martin turned to run, two other shots disturbed the silence and he pitched forward on his face into the long grass.
“We just saw the beggar in time, sir,” cried Jones. “I happened to look across and caught sight of him just as he fired at Mr. Walters. Me and Morris fired together.”
Grayling had sprung to his feet. “Are you hit, Walters?” he shouted.
“No,” replied the boy as he clambered up the bank; “what the deuce is the matter?”
“A nigger took a pot-shot at you! Get under cover as quick as you can. Never mind your clothes!”
Ten minutes passed. No sound broke the deathly stillness of the place; and then, cautiously creeping through the grass, the officer and Morris crawled round to where the latter had seen the man fall. They came upon him suddenly. He was lying partly on his face, with his eyes looking into theirs. Morris sprang up and covered him with his rifle.
“I’m done for,” Martin said quietly “my back is broken. Did the crocodile get the boy?”
“Crocodile!” said Grayling in astonishment. “Did you fire at a crocodile? Who are you? Are you a white man?”
“Never mind who I am,” he gasped; “let me lie here. Look,” and he pointed to a bullet-hole in his stomach; “it’s gone clean through me and smashed my backbone. Let me stay as I am.”
He never spoke again, and died whilst a litter was being made to carry him down to the beach.