“Didn’t I say he was a born gin’ral?” cried Dinny, enthusiastically.
“Take their boat!” said Abel.
“They’re three men, and we’re three,” said Bart, in a low growl.
“Four!” cried Dinny, excitedly. “Ye never see how Masther Jack can foight.”
“Hush!” said the latter, sternly. “The men are lying about half asleep. If we waited, we might get on board, cut the anchor rope, and drift out with the tide perhaps without rousing them.”
“And if it came to the worst we could fight,” said Abel.
“Are ye ready?” whispered Dinny. “See that your piece is well primed. My shtick’s loaded, and I’m ready to fire it off.”
“Hush!” said Jack, sternly. “I will climb up to where I can watch the men, and if they go to sleep I will wave a branch. Then creep up to me, and we may succeed without trouble.”
The proposal was agreed to at once, and a long, tedious time of waiting ensued, at the end of which Bart bared his arm.
“We’re strong enough for ’em,” he whispered. “Let’s go at once and fight it out.”