He hated to crawl back; he was doubtful of being able to get back unobserved. Crouching there, he looked up longingly at the rope almost above his head. He could hardly untie the knot; he would be shot down long before he could loosen it; but he noticed all at once that the pine stub was “fat.” Purple splinters, crystalline with rosin, hung from it. They would burn like candles. He felt for a match, struck it, reached up, and set the lowest splinter ablaze.
He had to rise half upright to do it, and he expected to be challenged, to be fired at. But the pirates were so much occupied with the bees that they failed to notice his momentary rising and dropping again. The resinous splinters flared, hissing and smoking; fire shot up over the old stump as if it were soaked in kerosene. Then there was a sudden shout from Blue Bob.
“Look yander! That thar stump’s afire!”
He started forward, and then struck back, awed by the furious cloud of flying bees. That hesitation lost his chance. The rope was already smoldering. The loop parted, smoking. The slack dropped into the water, and with a jerk the big raft began to drift.
Joe was squirming back as fast as possible toward his friends, too fast for caution, for he heard one of the river-men shout in a startled voice:
“What’s that movin’ yander?” and then a roar of wrath from the captain and a tremendous oath.
“Look out! That raft’s broke loose.”
Reckless of the bees, all three men plunged forward to secure it; but with a startling unexpectedness Bob’s rifle banged twice from his ambush. Mud spurted into the air, kicked up by the bullets striking at the robbers’ feet, and then Bob jumped up with rifle ready to fire again.
“Stand where you are!” he cried. “Next time I’ll shoot to hit somebody.”
“That’s the stuff! Hold ’em there!” Joe yelled, and he jumped up and ran to secure his own rifle where he had left it.