This–was soon done, and they repaired to the saloon skylight, where Bostock leaned his gun against the erection ready for use if wanted, and began to use the axe.
At the first blow there was a crash of glass, followed by a revolver shot from the bottom of the stairs, when Bostock dropped the axe and seized and cocked his gun.
“The old un’s at it, sir. Look out; maybe he’s coming out.”
“Fire at him if he fires at us,” said Carey, excitedly.
“I’m a-going to fire at him, sir, afore he does,” said the old sailor, sturdily. “See my swelled head, sir?”
Carey nodded.
“That’s right, sir. Well then, ’cordin’ to the rules of the game it’s my first play this time, and yours too.”
Carey was silent, and nothing followed the shot.
“He must be disabled, Bob?” whispered the boy. “Go on again.”
Bostock struck once more, and there was another shot below, but this time the old sailor went on, striking again and again, beating out glass and dividing the cross pieces of wood to make an easy entrance for anyone to get down. But not a dozen strokes had been delivered before the black was once more at their side.