Jack alone still sat erect, grasping the oar.
During the earlier part of the night, Broncho, unable to withstand the temptation any longer, had surreptitiously been dipping a finger over the side and then sucking it.
Then for some time he lay still in the bottom of the boat by the side of the unconscious boy, too weak and exhausted to raise himself.
Suddenly, about midnight, he sprang to his feet, shouting with delirium, and caused the boat to rock violently.
Jack staggered up and grasped hold of the madman, fearing that he would fall overboard, and Tari made a gallant attempt to crawl aft from his position in the bows, but fell back overcome by sheer weakness.
"Steady, old man, steady!" called the rover, in his thick, hoarse voice.
"Lemme go, lemme go!" shrieked the madman, "an' I shorely devastates this hold-up a whole lot. He's a size too small for game like me"; and hurling Jack to one side, he drew his revolver and plumped all six shots at an imaginary foe, whom he seemed to see out on the placid waters of the great Pacific.
"Ah, I reckon I perforates his innards some that time," he continued, and broke into a horrible, blood-freezing chuckle.
Then, as suddenly as he had broken out, the cowpuncher became quiet again, and, seating himself on the midship thwart, idly started to twiddle his empty six-shooter round his forefinger, whilst Jack watched him with anxious eyes.
Presently he moved again, and crouched down cautiously in the bottom of the boat, taking infinite care to keep under the shelter of the boat's side, as if fearing an attack of some sort from the sea.