Then, with
hair-starting war-whoops, the savages began dropping down through the
trap-door, which opened from one hall to another in the capacity of
fire-escapes.
The Diggers, peacefully studying in their rooms, were summarily ordered
into the hall to battle. Every man protested, but the Camanches refused
to parley. Then, seizing their weapons, the assailed marched forth to
the field of carnage.
Thwack! went the blows of the Camanches.
Thwack! the Diggers.
Thwack! the Camanches.
Thwack! the Diggers.
A stir among the Camanches and then a wild affray.
Crack! crack! go the Diggers' bastings. Crack! feathers fly over the
heads and into the eyes of the Camanches, and there many of them stick.
The Camanches realize the disadvantages of unprovoked assault with no
rules of warfare agreed upon beforehand.
Here and there a Camanche drops his arms and flies to the farther end
of the hall, only to fumble unavailingly at the fastenings of the iron
door, while a victorious Digger belabors him with the weapon he has
just cast aside.
All at once there is descried in the dim light of the hall the boots
and never-to-be-mistaken striped pantaloons of Captain Hale swinging
through the trap-door!
Captain Hale is drill-sergeant and professor of gymnastics.
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