"There she is! There she is, right ahead!" called Loyola breathlessly.
Jack seized the telescope, whilst the others broke out into a babble of exclamations, questions, and surmises.
"She's heading our way, I'm almost certain," declared Jack. "She's got square topsails, and her masts are in line, so I can't be certain of her rig; but I think she's an Island schooner, for a certainty."
"What for of a play would it be to let rip a volley at that paltry marooner. Mebbe it'd act as a signal-smoke to the stranger?" asked the cowpuncher, indicating the Black Adder, which was less than three cables' lengths off on their lee-quarter.
"First chop!" agreed Jack, picking up his Winchester.
"Just a sorter 'So long, ta-ta!' to the blighter," hinted Bill.
The schooner was busy sending up a big gaff-headed main-topsail, and the three musketeers aimed at the group of men tailing on to the fall of the sheet out-haul.
The three reports burst out together, and the group of men disappeared suddenly behind the bulwarks; a bullet had cut the rope they were hauling on.
"Good shot! good shot!" cried Jim hysterically, clapping his hands.
"That crowd hit the deck some sudden, I'm thinkin'," exclaimed Bill, grimly reloading.