“Us river people ain’t goin’ to have no peace whilst Skinner’s alive, kid!” he said in hard, even tones. “Whoever slugged that Beasell guy—well, me, I’d be goin’ for Skinner, so I would. So he’s goin’ to take the Minnie M. Baxter from ye, is he? Well, we’ll be seein’ about that.”
“Forget me for now, Big Joe. What worries me is, what’re we gonna do with Beasell? Maybe he’s dead.”
“Now ye be goin’ down and stay till I come, kid,” said the big fellow, drawing on his shoes.
Skippy started for the kicker. He went forward but that was as far as he got for he became suddenly aware of a low, ominous rumbling noise that seemed to come from shore and run through the barge colony. Before he had a chance to determine what it was he felt himself lifted off his feet bodily and like a feather he was thrown into the muddy waters of the Basin.
There was a terrific detonation throughout Brown’s Basin as Skippy came to the surface. Fire leaped from one barge to the other in the twinkling of an eye and the screams of men, women and children filled the turbid air.
Smoke poured skyward in great columns and in the light of the moon, Skippy saw the ponderous form of Big Joe Tully standing on the deck of the Minnie M. Baxter shouting and waving his hands. Suddenly he leaped into the kicker and the boy called out but he seemed not to hear in the din about them.
At that moment, the Minnie M. Baxter burst into flames. Big Joe Tully shouted deafeningly and Skippy, swimming hard to reach him, saw a strange, almost maniacal expression on his large face.
“’Tis Marty Skinner what’s done this!” he was shouting to no one in particular. “’Tis him what’s blowed this place up and took the kid away from me. ’Tis him! Skippy’s dead—I’m sure he’s dead! I can’t find him!” he was almost whimpering.
“I’m here!” Skippy called frantically. “Big Joe....”
But Tully was even then steering the kicker out of the inlet. He had the throttle wide open and Skippy had no more than a glimpse of the racing craft before she slipped beyond his sight.