Jarette came to the side, and seemed to be staring in astonishment at the boot, which he evidently expected to begin sailing right away, but instead was aiming right for the ship, Mr Brymer steering so that we should pass close under the stern.
“Keep farther out!” yelled Jarette, as we approached, but no notice was taken, and just then the mate said steadily to me—
“Now, Dale, hail Mr Denning. I want to speak to him as we pass.”
“Denning, ahoy!” I shouted through my hands. “Mis-ter Den-ning!”
“Keep off there, do you hear?” roared Jarette, and I saw the sun gleam on the barrel of a pistol.
“Den-ning, ahoy!” I cried again, but I must confess that the sight of that pistol levelled at the boat altered my voice, so that it trembled slightly and I gazed at it rather wildly, expecting to see a puff of smoke from the muzzle.
“Hail again, Dale,” cried Mr Brymer. “Never mind his pistol, my lad. It would take a better shot than he is to hit us as we sail.”
“Mr Denning, ahoy!” I shouted once more.
Bang! went the pistol.
“I told you so,” said Mr Brymer coolly, and at that moment I heard a sharp gasp behind me, and saw that a white face was at the little round cabin-window we were nearing.