If they tried to land, he could perhaps kill or wound two, three,
half-a-dozen, at risk of his own life. But the end would be the same.
With a dozen good shots coolly potting at him, he must go down in time,
and he had no desire either to kill or to be killed.
He wormed himself over the edge of his hollow and hurried along to the
tumbled rocks, carrying his gun and powder-flask--not that he wanted
them, but wanted still less to leave them behind. He scrambled over,
found his marked rocks, and slipped safely under the overhanging slab.
There he could peep out without danger of being seen; and he was barely
under cover when the first boat came slowly round again, every bearded
face intent on the rock, every eye searching for sign of him.
The other boats passed, and as each one came it seemed to him that every
eye on board looked straight up into his own, and he involuntarily
shrank down into the shadow of the slab. They could not possibly see
him, he was certain; and yet a thrill ran through him each time their
searching glances crossed his own.
The rough jests and laughter of the boats had given way now to angry
growls at his invisibility.
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