Then the Indian spoke softly, and when they stopped pulling at a sign from Stickine, Appleby, twisting himself round, saw something that was a little darker than the water swing with a grey slope of sea. The Indian was now lying huddled in the bows, and the rifle-barrel poked forward over them, while the copper cheek was down on the stock of it. It, however, seemed almost impossible that, as the boat swung up and down, any man could hit the dim moving thing which showed above the water with a single bullet, but while Appleby waited breathless the muzzle jerked upwards, and there was a thin flash. Then stinging smoke curled about him, and the jar of the report was flung back by the heaving slopes of sea. The Indian grunted as the cartridge rattled at his feet, and Stickine grabbed his oar.
"I'm not sure he got him, and a wounded seal generally goes right down," he said. "Still, he might give us another show, and we'll pull ahead somewhat, my lads."
They rowed for what seemed to the lads, who could see nothing but water, a considerable time, twisting now and then to left and right, until the rifle flashed again, and Stickine roared at them. Then for three or four minutes they pulled breathlessly, until there was another shout, and they flung the oars in and grabbed at something that slid past them. It took the whole of them to roll it in, and then there was a little laugh from Donegal, while Stickine stood looking down on the victim disgustedly. It was nearly twice the size of the other, but its fur was loose and thin, and there were big patches where it had been apparently torn away and had not grown again.
"It would take any man all his time to find a dollar's worth of sound hide on him," said Donegal, with a chuckle. "'Tis spectacles ye and Donovitch are wanting, Stickine."
"Well," said Stickine dryly, "a dollar's a kind of handy thing, but we needn't have pulled so far to leeward after a blame old bull."
None of them had apparently had much thought of the weather during the past half-hour, but now when they sat breathless resting on the dripping oars a cold wind chilled their flushed faces, and they saw that there was sliding vapour everywhere.
"She was lying 'bout south and dodging with staysail to windward when we had the last sight av her," said Donegal. "Is it any way likely Ned Jordan would get way on her?"
Stickine shook his head. "If it was clear he might have done, but once the haze shut down he'd stop right where he was so the boys would know where to look for him. We'll try south, anyway."
They bent their backs, for Stickine took his place again, but as they swung up with a sea Appleby wondered how any one could tell where the south might be.
There was no sign of either boat or schooner, only a heaving stretch of water across which the fleecy vapours rolled more thickly. They had pulled for about twenty minutes when it seemed to the lads that the splashes at the bows grew louder and the work harder, while there was no doubt at all that the wind was colder. Then little puffs of spray commenced to fly over their shoulders, and at times there was a white splash on the top of a sea. Appleby could hear Niven panting, and began to envy Donegal, who swung back and forwards with tireless regularity. His own oar was getting unpleasantly heavy.