Who of our friends did it will never be known, but one of them
perforated the gaunt scoundrel who, with his form bent over, was
pushing the pole while he stalked the length of the boat, returning
again to the prow to repeat the performance. The fellow emitted a
screech like a wounded tiger and leaped several feet in air, coming
down on the gunwale, over which he toppled into the water and was seen
no more. It was the spirited defiance of the white men that told.
Screening themselves as best they could they continued firing, Jack
Everson occasionally adding a shot from his revolver by way of variety.
The conformation of the other boat and its crowded condition prevented
the natives from sheltering themselves as did those who were using them
as targets. In short, the wretches were getting the worst of the
business, and it did not take them long to learn the fact. Left
without control, their boat began drifting with the current, which
being stronger than along shore gradually carried it down stream and
out of sight. So long, however, as it was visible its occupants
continued firing, while the white people did still better, for they
sent several shots after their enemies when they could see nothing and
fired wholly by guess.

There could be no question that the promptness of Dr. Marlowe and the
vigor of the resistance threw their foes into a sort of panic from
which they did not recover until beyond range. They had been taught a
lesson that they were sure to remember for a long time; though, when
our friends came to think the matter over, after finding no one of them
had been hurt, they could not escape the belief that the consequences
were certain to be of the most serious nature to themselves, and in
this conclusion, sad to say, they were not mistaken.