“Hands up, you scoundrels!” he cried.
“Ah! would you?”
This last to the leader, who, with a savage oath, had made a grab for his breast pocket.
A vicious spurt of flame leapt from the millionaire’s weapon, and as the report rang through the turret, the fellow fell back with a shattered wrist.
“Out west,” snapped the Yankee, “when I say put ’em up, they generally calculate to put ’em up at once! I shouldn’t advise you to play tricks; this gun’s kinder impatient, and might go off again. Say, sonny! Just grab them spokes, and turn her round for the dock.”
The scoundrel addressed moved trembling to the wheel, and, under the watchful eye of the American, brought the submarine round.
“That’s the style,” Haverly said, “keep her there. I reckon you’re in for a warm time when Mr. Hilton gets hold of you. You should never attempt to run a picnic of this sort; it needs brains, gentlemen, and——”
What Silas would have said further will never be known, for he broke off suddenly and ducked, just in time to escape a bullet from the revolver of the footman, who, aroused by the Yankee’s shot, had crept from the engine-room.
Quick as thought Haverly’s weapon answered, and the footman, with a neat little hole in the centre of his forehead, dropped like a log.
“Any more comin’ along?” Silas asked coolly; but the scoundrels had no heart left for resistance.