He was still waiting there, a twisted grin upon his thin lips, anxiety in his glittering eyes, when Crawford dropped all asprawl into the water. An instant later Frontin was bending above the spot, while heads crowded through the stern window above and yells roared at him. He grinned, waved his hand. They watched, wondering at his purpose there.
The wonder was soon flamed into wild rage when they saw him pull the dripping figure of Crawford in over the stern. Weak, half-conscious, yet wakened anew by his icy immersion, Crawford came over the gunnel and managed to drag himself to the thwart, as Frontin bent to the oar. The yells of fury from above died away, for the boat shot back around the side of the ketch.
“You came by the wrong road,” said Crawford, gasping. “Why the devil didn’t you get ’em in the rear? Sink me, man, I’d given up hope of help from you.”
Frontin fastened upon him a saturnine regard. Crawford was looking up at the ship.
“I’m not a fool,” he said, “and I had no pistols. No need to look up! The hatch is clapped on. I had to get this gold of mine.”
Crawford glanced around at the chests, and broke into a laugh. From the Irondelle came a hammering and pounding, a wild roar of muffled voices.
“Now’s your chance,” said Frontin coolly. “Say the word and I’ll slip aboard her, or call your men from the bark. Touch fire to her, take the gold, and leave the dogs to roast. Eh?”
“Plague take the gold, and them with it, you ruffian!” said Crawford. He could feel the strength ebbing out of him rapidly. “What brought you to aid me?”
Frontin squinted at the bark, and made a slight gesture.
“The Star of Dreams,” said he, and laughed thinly. “But tell me swiftly what you want me to do. I don’t think you’re hurt to death, yet in another minute the blood will be drained out of you——”