had dislodged from a hollow tree quite by accident.
"There's a foin birrud!" cried Gory presently. "Hould back, both of yez, an' Oi'll bring him down!" And he crept off to our left.
He was gone fully three minutes, when we heard the crash of his club among some tree branches, followed by a yell of wonder and then a scream of fright. "He has stirred up the wrong hornet!" ejaculated Tom Dawson. "Come on!" And away he bounded, with I following.
When we reached the Irish sailor he was leaning against a tree, trying to knock from his shoulder a bat that we afterward found measured three feet from one wing tip to the other. The bat had clutched him firmly and was dealing blow after blow, first with one wing and then the other.
"Save me! Hilp! Save me!" gasped Gory, whose wind was almost gone, and now a blow on his forehead sent him to the foot of the tree.
Tom Dawson threw his club, but missed his mark. While he was running to secure his weapon once more, I leaped forward and hit the bat over the head. Instantly he came for me, and I received a crack on the cheek that left its mark for several hours. But now another blow
