But before Sandy could answer, Cal came into the room again. A sheet of spray came with him, to hiss and steam where it struck the hot stove.
Cal shoved the door shut and leaned against it for a moment, panting, before he crossed the room to take a kerosene lantern from a shelf. When he had lighted it he left again immediately, fighting his way outside against wind-blown spray that seemed bent on flooding the cabin.
Sandy picked up where he had left off. “That door opens inward against the foot of the bunks. If I could turn around on this bunk so that I was behind the door when Cal opens it, and if I could kick it back against him when he was already in the room, he ought to be pretty well knocked out by the blow.”
“Knocked outside the cabin, you mean?” Ken was trying to visualize what Sandy described. It sounded like a dubious possibility.
“He might be,” Sandy agreed. “That would be all right too, if it just put him out of commission for a while. But what I hope is that if we time it right we can drive him against the opposite wall. Then I think we ought to be able to get rid of these lassos we’re wearing. All we need is plenty of time and some kind of tools.”
Ken was still mulling over the scheme Sandy had outlined. “He’d have to come all the way to the edge of the door—that far into the room—and then stop there a minute.” His voice raised a notch. “And he’d do just that if I were lying right there on the floor in front of him.”
“You?” Sandy’s question reminded Ken of his position on the upper bunk, up under the roof. “How would you get down there without breaking your neck?”
The barge lurched sickeningly. The entire cabin shook as a heavy wave struck the rear bulwark. The coffeepot fell from the stove with a loud clatter and rolled across the floor.
“On the other hand,” Sandy said quietly, when the blow subsided for a moment, “there are worse things than risking your neck.” He paused for a moment. “You hear something?” he asked.
Ken listened. “Yes! An engine! Could it be the engine of—?”