As he spoke, he and Bannock heaved and thrust at the door, and a heavy blow was struck upon it outside.
“Keep below there, dew yew hear?” came in an unmistakable voice.
“You might as well mind your own business,” growled Tom Fillot.
“D’yer hear? Keep below.”
The door cracked again with Tom Fillot’s efforts, and the next moment there was a sharp report, and a bullet crashed through.
“Guess yew’d best keep from ahind that theer hatchway, strangers, for I’m out o’ practyse, and I’m going to make a target o’ that theer door.”
“Stand down, Tom,” said Mark.
“Oh, I ain’t feared, sir, if you like to say keep on,” cried Tom Fillot.
“I know that, my lad; but I’m not going to run foolish risks.”
The man came down, and the little party stood gazing at each other in the low ceiled cabin, as the first rays of the rising sun flooded the place, and they could see the schooner astern, with Joe Dance, and Taters the black, looking over the bows eagerly, as if wondering what had taken place.