To save time, therefore, he carried his mining tools into the open, placed in position the _cheval de frise_ long since constructed for the defence of the entrance, and poured water over the remains of the fire.
This was his final care each night before stretching his weary limbs on his couch of branches.

It caused delay in the morning, but he neglected no precaution, and there was a possible chance of the Dyaks failing to discover the Eagle's Nest if they were persuaded by other indications that the island was deserted.
He entered the hut and was in the act of pulling off his boots, when a distant shot rang sharply through the air.

It was magnified tenfold by the intense silence.

For a few seconds that seemed to be minutes he listened, cherishing the quick thought that perhaps a turtle, wandering far beyond accustomed limits, had disturbed one of the spring-gun communications on the sands.

A sputtering volley, which his trained ear recognized as the firing of muzzle-loaders, sounded the death-knell of his last hope.
The Dyaks had landed! Coming silently and mysteriously in the dead of night, they were themselves the victims of a stratagem they designed to employ.