“You stick to the program, Hegan,” replied Martin. “No killin’; that’s what we agreed on.”
The edge of the fog-bank was already enveloping the sloop, and the coast-line was now hidden from view.
“But a nice little swim—” Hegan began.
“Shut up!” Martin snarled, losing his temper.
“All right,” replied Hegan. “You always was a chicken-livered cuss, huh? Now, Captain, oblige me and my friend by steppin’ for’ard up against your pal, so that if necessary Martin can chip bits off you both with that gun o’ his.”
“I won’t do anything of the kind,” replied Jack, pluckily, although he had an uncomfortable feeling that Hegan’s revolver was pointed at the pit of his stomach.
“Guess you will,” said Hegan, sneeringly, as he stepped back a few feet. “I’m going to count three. If you ain’t makin’ yourself scarce in that vicinity by the time I say ‘three,’ I’ll fire past you. I don’t want to do any killin’, mind. I’ll fire to miss you the first time, but the second shot won’t miss.”
Jack stared stubbornly at the man, who, however, showed no signs of wavering. And the shining weapon in his hand was a painfully conclusive argument.
“One!” said Hegan.
Jack set his lips tightly but continued to hold on to the wheel.