“Very well,” replied the Mexican, grasping a rifle.
The young inventor and his companion thereupon left the interior and ran up the shrouds.
Quickly reaching the first plane, they set to work with a will and began repairing it.
A patch was put over the hole and riveted.
This done, they ascended to the top plane and began to work, but in a few moments a volley of distant shots was heard, and a storm of bullets flew around them.
Barney gave a cry of pain.
“Shot?” queried Frank, in alarm.
“Shure; I have a bullet in me brain!”
“And still live?”
“Och, worra, worra! I’m a dead man!”