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"Yes."

"And you will take your medicine?"

"Yes."

That seemed to be everything, and an awkward pause followed. Peter, however, was not the kind that breaks down before other people. "Are you ready, Tinker Bell?" he called out.

"Ay, ay."

"Then lead the way."

Tink darted up the nearest tree; but no one followed her, for it was at this moment that the pirates made their dreadful attack upon the redskins.

Above, where all had been so still, the air was rent with shrieks and the clash of steel.

Below, there was dead silence.

Mouths opened and remained open.

Wendy fell on her knees, but her arms were extended toward Peter.

All arms were extended to him, as if suddenly blown in his direction; they were beseeching him mutely not to desert them.

As for Peter, he seized his sword, the same he thought he had slain Barbecue with, and the lust of battle was in his eye.

The pirate attack had been a complete surprise: a sure proof that the unscrupulous Hook had conducted it improperly, for to surprise redskins fairly is beyond the wit of the white man.

By all the unwritten laws of savage warfare it is always the redskin who attacks, and with the wiliness of his race he does it just before the dawn, at which time he knows the courage of the whites to be at its lowest ebb.

The white men have in the meantime made a rude stockade on the summit of yonder undulating ground, at the foot of which a stream runs, for it is destruction to be too far from water.

There they await the onslaught, the inexperienced ones clutching their revolvers and treading on twigs, but the old hands sleeping tranquilly until just before the dawn.

Through the long black night the savage scouts wriggle, snake-like, among the grass without stirring a blade.

The brushwood closes behind them, as silently as sand into which a mole has dived.

Not a sound is to be heard, save when they give vent to a wonderful imitation of the lonely call of the coyote.

The cry is answered by other braves; and some of them do it even better than the coyotes, who are not very good at it.

So the chill hours wear on, and the long suspense is horribly trying to the paleface who has to live through it for the first time; but to the trained hand those ghastly calls and still ghastlier silences are but an intimation of how the night is marching.

That this was the usual procedure was so well known to Hook that in disregarding it he cannot be excused on the plea of ignorance.

The Piccaninnies, on their part, trusted implicitly to his honour, and their whole action of the night stands out in marked contrast to his.

Chapter 12 THE CHILDREN ARE CARRIED OFF

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