“Oh! I believe there’s some more people to be locked up here,” answered Bob nonchalantly.
“All right!” answered the one who had asked the question. “Come on, Mike. And you—you young swab—mind you don’t let a soul come near here while we’re gone; if you do, Ralli’ll just skin yer. D’ye hear?”
“All right!” answered Bob, placing his back against the door; “you go on; I won’t give Ralli a chance to skin me, never fear. He’s a good deal more likely to skin you if you don’t look sharp.”
The two guards accordingly set out in the direction of the cottage; but they had not gone half a dozen steps before they returned, cursing and swearing most horribly.
“Here, you young cub, what’s the pass-word? Damn me if I hadn’t forgotten that,” exclaimed one of them, making towards Bob with outstretched hand.
“Stand back!” said Bob. “If you advance another step I’ll shoot you both like dogs.”
“The pass-word; the pass-word,” demanded the ruffianly pair. “Give the pass-word at once, or by — I’ll split your skull with this cutlass.”
Bob saw that he had not a moment to lose; that his life hung upon a thread; and that, moreover, if he allowed these fellows to overpower him, the whole scheme would probably fail; he therefore whipped out his pistols, and, taking rapid aim, pulled both triggers at the same instant. There was a single report; and one of the men staggered forward, shot through the body, whilst the other threw up his arms and fell back heavily to the ground with a bullet in his brain.
Bob remembered for many a long day afterwards, and often saw in his dreams at night, the wild despairing glare in the eyes of the dying pirate as the flash of the pistol glanced upon the glazing eyeballs for an instant; but he had no time to think about such things now. Stooping down and applying his mouth to the keyhole he said, loud enough to be heard by those within:
“Stand clear in there; I’m about to blow the lock to pieces. It is I—Robert. The time has come.”