“Row!� said Fay. “Take up those oars and go to work. I plucked you clean! You lost the gun you stole from me when the ship sunk. This one is a six-gun
with steel bullets and smokeless-powder. It’s little, but it’ll do the work!�
The crook’s eyes wavered. They searched the tossing sea, which was fog-shrouded. They returned to the sight of the little gun held so steadily. They dropped to the oars.
“That’s right,� said Fay. “Sit backwards and fall to. It’s only seven miles, Dutch. Why did you pick such an awful coast?�
The German had no answer for this question. He staggered to his feet and stared about with savage eyes. Each time he turned toward the stern of the boat, he saw the little silver-plated revolver.
“Sit down!� said Fay. “Take up those oars! I’ll give you ’till I count three. One!�
Dutch Gus dropped to the seat and picked up an oar. He outboarded this, then reached for the other. His broad back and sodden clothes blotted out the view astern. He swung his body and cursed as the oars missed the water. He dug the blades too deeply. He made poor progress.
Fay reached and pressed the cold muzzle of the gun against the German’s purple neck where it showed above the collar.
“A little faster,� said the cracksman. “Try it again. It’s only six or seven miles.�
The girl glanced now and then over her shoulder. The fog along the coast was heavier than any veil. Beneath this fog the sea lifted and dropped with a long-drawn moan.