As Van attempted to rise to his feet again, the mate cautioned him to lie still, and Gregory, who had already sought seclusion behind the thwarts, seconded the motion.
"Lay low," said the sailor, in a whisper. "We'll make 'em believe we are dead."
"That's our only show," added the mate. "If they leave us alone for a few minutes we'll drift out of range; ther tide is runnin' out like a race horse!"
But Doc Clancy and his villainous allies were not yet satisfied. A minute or so later our friends heard the creaking of oars in the rowlocks, and peering over the thwart, he beheld the murderer of his uncle, and the white men he had seen on the shore, rowing toward them with all their might.
He quickly told his two companions what he saw.
"We've got ter fight it out," observed the mate, grimly. "Git that barrel of hard tack an' ther bag of salt together; we'll git behind 'em an' commence it right away afore they git any closer."
Van and Gregory followed the mate's advice, and a minute later they opened fire upon those in the approaching boat.
Of course their shots were returned, but the bullets could not penetrate the barrel and sack of salt, and the three remained unharmed.
Van had the satisfaction of seeing two of the men in the pursuing boat fall under the fire made by himself and companions.