"What that man can do we can. Follow him!" Dane cried; but Gilby signaled to his crew, and they slackened their paddling. They were far from timid, but they had not lost their reason.
Twice the sea was rent apart ahead, and sheets of foam rushed up, while the sound of its impact on the reef rang in a deafening crash. Then the pursuit ended suddenly.
"Are they mad, or turning on him?" gasped Gilby.
A man flung in his paddle on board the craft ahead. The flash of a pistol followed, but no sound was audible through the thunder of the reef. Then a black form rose upright with paddle swung high, and a long sea rose between the pursuers and the canoe. When it passed, the frail craft floated bottom uppermost, and the reef hurled up a smother of foam close ahead. Already several black heads were spread out across the swell as the native crew swam for dear life to evade the danger.
Gilby's boys stopped paddling altogether.
"Go on! Rideau's clinging to the canoe!" shouted Dane.
Gilby looked at the whirling spray, and then at his comrade.
"It won't be in this world he'll answer for his offenses. She's drifting straight across the reef, and nothing at that distance could cheat it."
Dane struck the nearest negro.
"Go on! Why don't you paddle? Gilby, where that man goes I follow!"