At last he must really have slept, though he seemed to be always conscious of the candlelight and the fog. But he came to himself with a sense of waking, not out of but into a nightmare. The candle still burned, but it was low now. The fog banked in wet clouds about it; and Bob was gone. Another man had taken his place.
This watcher also chewed tobacco, but Lockwood saw at once that he was less vigilant. He presently fetched a fresh candle and lighted it from the first, then, sitting down, yawned loudly. He had been wakened from his first sleep, and had trouble to keep from relapsing.
Lockwood lay with closed eyes, but tense, wide awake now, peeping at intervals. The man kept firmly awake for fifteen minutes. His lids drooped; he rubbed them with his knuckles and stared straight ahead; then he shifted his position, sighed, and blinked heavily.
Holding the bit of steel between finger and thumb, Lockwood began to saw at the cord with noiseless, imperceptible movements. By twisting his fingers he could just reach the rope, but he could bring very little force upon it. Fortunately the knife was almost razor sharp. Once he cut his own flesh; twice he dropped the knife and had to feel for it among the rags and corn shucks; but he could feel the strands parting, and at last his hands went freely apart.
The guard was dozing, blinking, evidently dazed with sleep. Lockwood sighed, snored, and drew his heels up to his body as if restless. The watchman paid no attention, and Lockwood reached down with his left hand and ripped through his ankle cords with half a minute’s quick work.
Then he hesitated, as a man may when his life depends on the dexterity of the next minute. The pirate had a sudden spell of wakefulness; he knuckled his eyes and stretched, and it was full twenty minutes before he relaxed into drowsiness again.
Lockwood gathered up the ragged blanket, and rose on his elbow, measuring the distance to the doorway. He slipped his shoeless feet over the ledge of the bunk—and then suddenly caught the wide-open, amazed eyes of his guard.
Before the man’s open mouth could produce its yell Lockwood flung the blanket over the candle, and bolted, crouching low, for the door. Black darkness fell behind him. There was a howl, a shot exploded with a deafening crash, and then an uproar of stamping feet, ejaculations, and another shot as he dived through the door. But then he was out and had jumped ashore upon the big log.
He halted bewildered. The dense fog lay all around him like a gray wall. A low fire on the shore made a pale blur. That second of delay almost ruined him. A man plunged after him from the boat, running square into him. Lockwood caught him a heavy uppercut, putting all his energy of vindictiveness into it. It lifted the pirate clean off his feet, and he crashed over backward with a grunt.
Lockwood rushed down to the other end of the boat. He was afraid to try the woods in that smother of dark and fog. He almost collided with another ruffian who was leaping ashore from the stern. The man grabbed at him and fired; but Lockwood had ducked, dropping flat. He smelled the water close to him. He wallowed forward, into thick, deep mud, then into deepening water.