He drew the hammer of the revolver back and raised the weapon, letting the front sight stop full upon the middle of Garfunkle's back between the shoulders. He hesitated, and as he did so he remembered that the man had saved his life but a few days before. He would have drowned but for the rescuing grip which hauled him upon the house. He let the weapon sink until its muzzle touched the planks, and he put his left hand to his head to try to help his reeling brain to reason properly. No, he could not die. The vision of the home ashore came stronger to him. It was not for himself alone that he would live, but live he must, and would.
The sights of the pistol settled again upon the back of his mate. He was twenty fathoms distant and drifting slowly away. Johnson pressed the trigger.
The report jarred him. The puff of smoke disappeared at once into the air, and he saw Garfunkle look around and grin. Then the mate stood up, reeled, staggered, and plunged headlong overboard. He saw him no more.
Without waiting an instant Johnson swam toward the craft and managed to gain her. He had forgotten about the sharks, but nothing struck him. He took the oar the mate had dropped in the water alongside, and after he climbed aboard he trimmed the sheet and settled himself in the stern, making the oar fast in a becket. If he let go of it now he would not lose it. The sun was in the west and he headed away, steering as near as he could guess for the Bahamas.
The wrecking sloop Sea-Horse was coming along up the coast and the captain, Sanders, of Key West, noticed something floating upon the broad stretch of sea which looked like a small white boat. Boats were not met with so far off shore, and the object sat so low in the water and appeared without control that the skipper of the wrecker called his mate.
"What d'ye make of that, Bill?" said he, pointing to the white speck.
Bahama Bill, the huge negro diver and wrecker, looked long and intently at it.
"'Pears to me like it was er wrack, cap—what? Looks to be a stove-in boat, an' I reckon we might as well pick her up—maybe we kin fix her to be ob use wid a little paint and putty. Ennyways, we kin sell her to some dub in Miami en clar enough fo' de trouble—what yo' say, cap?"
"Oh, let her head up to it if you want to," said Sanders. "I don't like running out of my line when I'm in a hurry, but if you want her, get her. I reckon we might pass her off for a few dollars—stand by the main sheet."