They were not smoking like a man does in his armchair by his home fireside. No; no slow meditative puffs here, but a quick indrawing and expelling of the smoke in rapid, ceaseless breaths, and there was a light in their eyes only to be seen in the firing-line.
Such a light could now be seen in each pair of eyes owned by the occupants of the whaleboat; even the blind ones gleamed with it.
Again the leading pursuer stopped to replace a wounded oarsman.
"Good for you, mum," cried Bill delightedly. "You deserves a marksman's badge."
"An' I puts down a bet on that," agreed Broncho. "That mutineer can't buck against you, missy. He finds you has an ace buried every time. I reckon the baleful effec's o' your cannonadin' puts a diff'rent tint on his views o' life."
"He thought he was goin' to get us so easy, too," grinned Jim.
"He notes now as how shore things don't exist. Providence, if in the mood, can beat four aces an' the joker," declared the cowboy.
"Aye, an' a gal out-luck two boat-loads o' hell-scrapin's, easy as fallin' off a log," added Bill.
But Loyola was not going to have it all her own way: a shot from the pursuer made a long tear in her white dress, and the next one drew blood from her left shoulder.
"I can't stand this," declared Jack, his voice shaking. "You must stop firing, Lolie, and lie down in the bottom of the boat."