“Yi, yi, sah!” replied the ebony guard.
“What were you shooting at?” demanded Egan.
“Dunno who his name was, but spect he was one of dem big-gunners who cussed so to-day kase you-uns skeered away his ducks,” answered the negro. “Didn’t hit him, kase I heared him when he jump into his boat. You go to bed, Marse Gus, an’ ole Sam look out for the boats; yes, sah, he will so.”
A few more words passed between the guard and the owner of the yacht, but the shrieking of the wind prevented Enoch and his companions from hearing what they were. When they saw the lantern which Egan carried in his hand moving along the shore toward the house, they gave way on their oars again, and half an hour later found them snug in bed. They were much disappointed by their failure to set the yacht adrift, and Enoch loudly condemned the ill luck which seemed to follow him wherever he went, and the good luck that always attended Gus Egan’s footsteps.
“Yes, they wall have a good time in spite of us, and we shall be obliged to stand by and see them enjoy it,” chimed in Jones, who would have given almost anything he possessed if he had been invited to make one of Egan’s party.
“As far as I am individually concerned, it makes no sort of difference to me whether Egan enjoys himself or not,” observed Lester. “He never did anything to me, and I should have nothing against him if he were not so stuck up; but I am now and forever opposed to that Don Gordon, who ought to be abolished. I’d give a thousand dollars if somebody would carry him off and never bring him back again.”
The way Lester said this made Enoch and Jones laugh until their sides ached; but they had occasion to recall his words before many hours more had passed away, and then they did not see anything so very amusing in them. Lester afterward uttered these sentiments in the hearing of one who took him at his word, and acted accordingly.
Enoch and his guests slept as soundly as though they had never in all their lives been guilty of any thing mean, and when the sun got up he found them sailing down the bay in the Firefly. After an hour’s run they dropped anchor in the mouth of a little creek, alongside a sloop which had a small, lead-colored skiff on her deck, and a box-boat moored to the stern. On the shore stood a very dilapidated cabin built of unpainted boards, and in front of the open door sat Barr, the big-gunner, who was engaged in cleaning his double-barrel. The tone of voice in which he responded to Enoch’s hearty “good morning” was no doubt intended to be polite, but his “how dy!” sounded more like a growl than like words of greeting; but when he saw the schooner drop her anchor overboard he got into his canoe and came off to take the boys ashore. He did not seem disposed to turn the cold shoulder to his visitors, as men who make their living in unlawful ways are generally supposed to do, but that he was angry over the loss he had sustained the day before was plain to be seen. He and Enoch were old acquaintances and friends, and he was indebted to the boy for the warning that had enabled him to hold fast to his big gun as long as he did.
“Well, Mr. Barr, what sort of luck did you have yesterday with the canvas-backs and red-heads?” asked Enoch, as he sprang down into the canoe.
“None at all, dog-gone it,” growled the man in reply. “After Egan scared away them ducks, there wasn’t nary other flock come nigh me; and after you-uns told me that the police had gobbled my gun, I jest picked up my decoys and come home. But I will make up for it to-night, I bet you.”