“Yes, of course. Didn’t you hear what that was?”
“Course I did, sir, though I was down on my face with my fingers in my ears. It went off well. Come on, the door must be down.”
Another heavy report seemed to strike the schooner again, as the smoke curled rapidly out of the cabin window, and Mark pressed to it, thrust out his head, and uttered a loud cheer.
“Why—no—yes—hooray!” roared Tom Fillot, as he caught a glimpse of something half a mile away, seen through the thick white smoke. “Cheer, lads, cheer! It’s the Naughtylass just astarn.”
“I—I knew it,” panted Mark, “and stopped the train just in time. Look at the floor and sweep away any sparks that are left. I—I can’t now. Mind the powder doesn’t go off.”
The smoke in the cabin was less dense now, and, awakening fully to the fact that there were sparks here and there where the train had ignited a few tindery spots between the boards, Tom Fillot and Bannock carefully trampled them out and swept away with their caps any portions of the loose powder which might communicate with the heap by the cabin door.
“That’s about right now, sir,” said Tom; “and that’s about safe, but I’m blessed if I didn’t think it had all gone off.”
Bang! went another gun.
“Go it, old gal,” cried Tom. “I say, sir, that first shot must have hit us somewheres forrard. Oughtn’t we to give ’em a cheer?”
“Yes,” cried Mark; and the men pressed to the cabin window, but before they could shout there was the smashing of glass overhead, and the barrel of a pistol was thrust down.