Bart drew a breath full of relief.
“Be ready.”
“Ready it is.”
“Down sail.”
The little yard struck, the sail collapsed, and, acting by the impetus already given, the boat glided forward some distance and then grated upon a bed of sand.
Bart shuddered slightly, but he was busy all the while arranging the sail ready for rapid hoisting; and this done, he carried the grapnel out some fifteen or twenty yards from the bows and fixed it cautiously in the shore.—He was about to return when a hand was laid upon his shoulder—a hand which seemed to come out of the black darkness.
Bart snatched a pistol from his belt, and put it back with a grunt.
“I didn’t know it was you,” he said, in a hoarse whisper. “Lightning seems to make it darker. Where away?”
“Fifty yards south,” said Jack, quietly.
“Then look here, my lad. I don’t want to disobey orders; but I’m a man and you’re only a—”