At the same time he rested the rifle on the gunwale and took aim at the man nearest to the right bank.
“Now!” he said, as he fired.
The wheel spun round, and the gyro-boat swerved abruptly towards the right bank. It was impossible to tell whether the shot had taken effect. The Albanian, when he saw the rifle pointed at him, dropped down behind the parapet, loosing his grip on the stone he was preparing to cast. His fear not only robbed him of his chance, but prevented his companions from hurling their stones, for those who were already on the bridge imitated his ducking movement with great celerity, and those who were still running had to pass him before they, too, could seize upon the missiles.
There was a moment of confusion. Then the men began to hurry towards the bank, evidently supposing that the occupants of the gyro-boat intended to land there. But another turn of the wheel caused the boat to swing back into its former course. It shot under the arch, and before the Albanians could turn about and rush to the further parapet, the boat was beyond the reach of their missiles, speeding merrily on in the middle of the stream.
Shouts now sounded on all sides; rifles cracked, and bullets began to patter in the water, none striking the boat or any of its occupants.
“Dished ’em, old man!” cried George, gleefully, stopping the engine. “That was a very neat idea of yours. We must be going ten knots with the current, and as they can’t possibly pursue us along the banks, I think we’re safe.”
“What do you say, Giorgio?” asked Maurice of the man, who had crouched low in the boat while it ran under the bridge, but now raised himself and looked around. For a few moments he made no reply; then, pointing first to the right bank and then to the river ahead, he said—
“There is danger, excellence. You see!”
“I see them running from the bridge back up the hill, but what of that?” asked Maurice.
“They will run to the rapids and cut us off there,” replied Giorgio. “There is a short path to them across the hills.”