“They’re crazy,” he said. “Barres, fire across that boat out yonder.”
Westmore also fired, aiming carefully at Ferez. It was too far; they both knew it. But the ricochetting bullets seemed to sting the rowers to frantic exertion, and Ferez, at the rudder, ducked and squatted flat, the tip of his hat alone showing over the gunwale.
“We can’t stop them,” said Renoux desperately. “They’re certain to reach that boat.”
Now, suddenly, Skeel’s six rifles cracked viciously and the bullets came screaming over the ditch.
Renoux fairly gnashed his teeth:
“If a bluff won’t stop them, then I’m through,” he said bitterly. “I haven’t any authority. I haven’t the audacity to fire on them—to so insult your Government. And yet, by God!—there’s the canal to remember!”
Another volley from the Green Jackets, and again the whizzing scream of bullets through the cat-tails above their heads.
“Look!” cried Barres. “They’re embarking already! There isn’t a chance of holding them.”
It was true. Pell-mell through the shallow water 404 and into the boat leaped the Green Jackets, holding their rifles high in the early sunshine; Skeel sprang in last of all; the oars flashed.
Pistols hanging helplessly, Renoux and his men stood there foolishly on the edge of their ditch and watched the boat pull back to the big power-craft.