Bill had the motor going in a jiffy. Gus was at the wheel, crouching. Throwing in the reverse clutch he sent the boat off the sands. Then, letting Bill hold her steady, dropped the Stella’s sails, cast her loose at the end of a hauser for a tow rope, paid it out from the stern and went back to the wheel.
He was about to swing round and head back into the narrow channel free from sand bars, which he could discern by the rougher water, when bullets began to come from the dory. They were aimed at the wheel and whether sent low or not, the trajectory, even from a high-powered gun, would pull them down to the danger level. One struck the mast directly in front of him. One hit the deck and glanced singing. The music from another flattened bullet was stopped by the water beyond.
Gus wanted desperately to get behind something, for this firing might mean death or wounding at any moment. But he held on, hoping shortly to get out of range. Bill, at the rear hatch, called to Gus to set her and come below, and Gus called back that they’d be aground again in a minute if he did. Then a brave deed was done.
The girl, perhaps as fully aware of the danger as the boys, leaped into the cabin, came out with two chairs and some cushions, erected a barricade alongside of Gus and said to him:
“I want to get back and we can’t stop, but most of all I want you to be safe.”
Then she gave a sudden cry and staggered into the cabin. Gus called Bill, who limped across quickly. The shots continued, and one hit the chairs. Gus wondered where it would have hit him. Presently they were too far away for the shots to reach them, for they had entered the narrow bay.