"White man——" the preacher began.
The Cuban took no heed. The shot, he figured, could have come from no one but the negro in the boat, and he wheeled on him, flashing his revolver. As he turned to the sea, however, he saw a motor boat coming at terrific speed into the harbor. He took one glance at it.
"We've got to get rid of the boy before he comes!" he cried.
Leborge, with a wide grin, gave a nod of approval, and Manuel's gun came slowly to the shoulder, for cat-like, he wanted to torture the boy before he fired.
Quicker than his grave manner would have seemed to forecast, the preacher stepped fairly between the Cuban and his victim.
"De Good Book say——" he began, but Manuel gave him a push. There was a slight struggle and a flash.
The preacher fell.
Manuel turned on Stuart, who had tried to catch the falling man, forgetting for the instant that his hands were tied. He stumbled, and the pistol centered on his heart.
Came another,
"Spat!"