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 drowned all other noises.
Quincal still grasped his weapon with both hands, and with amazing power, extricated it, as his victim fell, and turned upon the others.
But, by this time, he was surrounded and his fate was sealed.
Anxious to save the brave fellow, the professor and Long emptied their revolvers among his enemies, but were unable to scatter them until the fellow sank to the ground, pierced deep and fatally in a dozen places by the poisoned javelins.
Instinctively, the two white men filled their magazines from their belts, as quickly as they could, and by the time Quincal was no more, they opened again on the savages.
The latter had already lost fearfully, and this renewed assault was more than they could stand.

If, instead of trying to make the white men prisoners, they had contented themselves with hurling their spears, when they first sprang from the ground, nothing could have saved Grimcke and Long.
Now, when they launched the missiles, it was too late.

The white men were each protected by the trunk of a large tree, and standing back in the shadow, their faces could not be seen.