“The pistols, Mr. Dowd!” begged Ruth again.
The first officer departed on a run. Rollife kept at his work with a running commentary of his opinion of the scoundrels who were approaching. Suddenly a rifle rang out from the coming launch.
“Ahoy! Ahoy the steamer!” shouted a voice. “We see your light, and we’ll shoot at it if you don’t douse it. Quick, now!”
Another rifle bullet whistled over the head of the radio man. Ruth removed her thumb from the electric torch switch instantly. But Rollife refused at first to be driven.
The next moment, however, a bullet crashed into the lantern on the roof of the radio house. The flame was snuffed out and the radio man was feign to slide down from his exposed position.
Dowd came running from the cabin with the pistols. He gave one to Ruth and another to Rollife. The latter stepped out from the shelter of the house and drew bead on the lamp in the approaching launch. Ruth heard the chatter of the weapon’s hammer—but not a shot was fired!
“Great guns, Dowd!” shouted the radio man, exasperated. “This gat isn’t loaded.”
“Neither is mine!” exclaimed Ruth, who had made a quick examination in the darkness.
“Oh, my soul!” groaned the first officer. “I got the wrong weapons!”
“And no more clips of cartridges? Well, you——”