"It looks a heap like it."
"And here we are right in the middle of it without as much as a hat pin to do business with," moaned Mason.
The captain, who had darted into his cabin a moment before, now emerged with a cartridge belt buckled around his flannel coat and two army pistols at his sides. He carried three other pistols in his hands.
"Here, boys," he said, as he approached them and handed one to each; "these are for protection only. Do you know how to use them?"
"Only give us something to shoot at and we will show you," piped the Midget.
"Well, if you have to shoot, there are your marks," was the reply, as he pointed to the gunboat.
In the meantime equal activity had been displayed on the Spaniard. Her decks swarmed with men, and over the still water was borne a jargon of unintelligible orders.
Suddenly there came a sharp command from the little man on the bridge. Dynamite understood it and raised his hand as if to warn the boys back. There was a puff of smoke at the gunboat's bow and then a loud report.
A solid shot whistled across the bows of the Mariella and ricochetted over the water into the distance.
"Crowd on all steam, Suarez," shouted the captain, shaking his fist at the gunboat. "We will first try the wise man's course and run away, but if we cannot shake off that little terrier, we'll have to show our teeth."