“Then the scoundrel and the crew of the schooner which contained my boy must have been picked up by this craft, and carried away.”
“Just exactly my impression,” Frank replied.
Barney and Pomp were apprised of the news, and they eagerly scanned the pirates’ craft.
“I reckon dey doan’ ’spec dat we’se ober dar haids up yere in de clouds,” chuckled the coon.
“Shure, they’ll be afther knowin’ it soon enough,” laughed Barney, as he spit on his hands and rubbed them together.
As he spoke, they heard the faint report of a gun, and saw a shot strike the stern of the fugitive steamer.
Judging by the actions of the vessel, the ball had evidently struck the rudder or screw, for she ran wild, and her engineer was obliged to stop her.
The Terror dashed ahead, and another shot was discharged from her deck, the ball sweeping the deck of the other.
Frank grew restless.
“We must stop them at once!” he exclaimed, “or they will, perhaps, murder the whole crew. Barney, take charge and drop the Jove down toward them.”