op of their voices, ran swiftly in the
direction of the whites, who were still firing their Winchesters.

"Get behind a tree!" shouted the professor, who had a wholesome dread
of the poisoned weapons, and who lost no time in availing himself of
the nearest shelter.

But he did not cease to use his rifle. The cartridges in his magazine
were running low, and it was necessary to exercise care in aiming, for
a few precious seconds must be consumed in extracting an additional
supply from the belt at his waist.

But Jared Long declined to follow the sensible advice and example of
his friend. Scorning to seek shelter, even from such terrible weapons,
he blazed away, making nearly every shot tell.

It was not until he saw a knot of savages working round with a view of
getting behind him, that he fell back a few paces, though still
exposed. The wonder was that he had not already been pierced by more
than one of the fatal missiles.

Suddenly he was jerked almost off his feet. The impatient professor
had seized his arm and yanked him behind the tree at his side in spite
of himself.

The New Englander would have been a zany to expose himself again, after
being provided in this summary fashion with a shield.

But he, too, had about emptied the magazine of his Winchester.
Although he could have brought out more cartridges from his belt in a
twinkling, he coolly leaned his rifle against the tree and whipped out
his revolver.

"After that is emptied," he reflected, "my knife is left."

The action of the natives suggested that it was their wish to take both
the men prisoners instead of killing them. They had done too much to
be let off with such an easy death: they were wanted for torture.

But, in making such a contract, it may be said that the assailants
found it exceedingly difficult to deliver the goods.

They might as well have tried to seize and hold a couple of diminutive
volcanoes, as to lay hands on the men whose supply of fire and death
seemed without limit.

In the midst of the frightful struggle, with the shrieking figures
falling, dashing forward and retreating, as if in wild bewilderment,
Quincal rushed out of the wood with a shout brandishing his spear and
making straight for the ferocious savages.

With a daring and strength that surprised the latter no more than it
did his white friends, he drove the head of the weapon sheer through
one of the assailants, who went over backward with a screech that