“Now give me that gun,” said Murphy. “I fixed your friend’s gun for ’im, so ye’ll have one in the boat. And down the rope with ye, an’ cast off.”
“But, but——”
“No buts about it,” said Murphy, roughly. “I heard ye callin’ for help an’ I want none of Uncle Sam’s men puttin’ me in jail for the rest of me life. Over ye go, Jonah, an’ good luck to ye.”
[CHAPTER XVI—DOCTOR MARLEY EXPLAINS]
Frank slid down the rope which Mr. Temple, braced in the bow of the boat, held steady for him. Jack and Bob already were at the oars and fending off from the side of the trawler. Fat little Doctor Marley crouched frightened in the stern.
“Give ’way,” cried Matt Murphy, from above.
As he made his way across the thwarts toward the stern, the better to trim the boat, Frank glanced up. Over the rail of the trawler leaned Matt Murphy waving farewell with his uninjured hand, in which was clutched the revolver taken from Frank.
Frank waved as his chums bent lustily to the oars and the boat began to dance across the still water, widening the gap between it and the trawler. A feeling of regret at parting with Murphy crossed Frank’s mind. A strange man, a leader of crooks, was Murphy. Yet Frank had been quick to sense the finer instincts beneath the surface and companionable traits which drew him strangely.
From the deck of the trawler there floated to them
now a high jabbering of Chinese. They were in sight, and the thwarted Orientals were angry at seeing their prey escape. They ran to the rail and leaned over, jabbering away. One—the man with the revolver—whipped up his arm and fired. The bullet skimmed the water close to the stern, and Doctor Marley whimpered and threw himself flat on the bottom boards.