With a terrific crash one of the windows of the pilot house was shattered, pieces of glass showering in upon the pilot like a sudden storm of hail.
Crash!
Another window fell in a shower about him. He tried to get the door on the opposite side of the pilot house open, but locked it instead and dropped the key on the floor.
All this time the "Fat Marie's" paddle wheel was backing water and the craft, now swung almost broadside to the stream, was working her way over toward the Iowa shore.
Bang!
A section of the pilot-house door fell shattering on the inside, and what sounded like a volley of musketry, rattled against the harder woodwork of the pilot house itself.
Frightened almost out of all sense, Cummings began groping excitedly for his revolver. At last he found it, more by accident than through any methodical search for it.
The pilot began to shoot. Some of his bullets went through the roof, others through the broken out windows, while a couple landed in the door.
At last the half-crazed Cummings was snapping the hammer on empty chambers. He had emptied his revolver without hitting anything more than wood and water.
The fusillade from the outside still continued.