I was out of bed and on my feet ere the two shots from our stern spat out their reply. I understood the significance of those sounds now. Brack and his gang were attacking at the first light of dawn, and they had not caught our men napping.
My legs bent weakly under me as I stood up, the thigh which Barry had cut seemed numb and helpless, and my head whirled till I nearly fell. With my hands hugging the wall for support I made my way to the door. I wished to step out on deck, and so, naturally, in my tumbled mental condition it was the door leading into the cabin saloon that I found.
I opened the door but slightly and stopped. Betty was sitting before the door. Her back was toward me, there was a book in her lap and her hair was hanging down her back in the disordered condition of a woman who has kept ceaseless vigil, regardless of appearances, through the night.
Softly as I closed the door she heard and was up in a flash.
“Gardy! Mr. Pitt! Are you up?” she called, her hand on the knob. I had slipped the catch as I closed the door so she could not come in. “Do you want anything? I’ll get it for you. You mustn’t move, you know. Are you—are you feeling stronger—Mr. Pitt?”
“I am all right,” I said.
“Oh! Are you really? Are you able to get up?”
“Certainly.” I was flinging a dressing gown about me. “What is happening aft?”
Another volley of shots from the shore was answered from the yacht.
“Brack and his men shot Mr. Wilson, and now they’re trying to shoot the rest of us.”