It was only a moment that he stood so. Then a shot rang overhead, quickly followed by a volley. Feet ran along the deck, and shouted orders were repeated from bow to stern. Marion ran out, looking to the priming of his gun as he caught it up from a rack.
Howls and shouts were mingling in a pandemonium as he gained the deck. He stumbled over Moses, who was rolling over and over in the clutches of one of the assailants.
“Take this one, Marion,” said Lincoln, speaking almost hurriedly; “he’s got my knife. I’ll be back for him when I take in my sweep. Don’t you let him get away without getting back my knife. Molly Royce gave it to me.”
“Did you give her a penny for it?” asked Charlie Hoyt, as he staggered by, half carrying a struggling form that he lifted bodily when he reached the rail, and threw into the river.
Marion stooped to extricate Moses from his difficulties, and received a blow from Moses’ heavy boot heel that sent him reeling. Lewis caught him.
Marion staggered to his feet. “Cut loose their boat,” he said, stumbling towards the stern where the attackers’ boat rode in tow.
“Hold on—nothing in that but dead,” said Lewis. “We shot into ’em, just as they came out of a cave after us. They shot, but we dropped on the deck after we fired and they didn’t hit us. Mose is through with his Indian.—No! He’s under again!”
“Take my musket and beat him off!” shouted Kenton, who lay helpless in the scuppers.
“Don’t shoot!” cried the Indian, suddenly springing up and lifting his hand, “I’m a white man!”
“It’s Jimmy,” drawled Lincoln, coming back from his careful attention to the starboard sweep. “Why don’t you say who you are, you blockhead, letting Lewis get a bead on you before you introduce yourself? Have you got my knife, Marion?”