Flora sat in the stern-sheets. John managed the tiller with his left hand. The light breeze wafted them northward. At last George Wick broke the silence.
"It sounded like gun-shots," said John, indifferently.
"I suppose that mad skipper is fighting with his men," said Flora--and the breath of her words touched the sailor's cheek.
Black Dennis Nolan and Bill Brennen brought the loose jewels from their hiding-place to the harbor. The skipper carried the dispatch-box, and in his pockets he had John Darling's neat little pistols, each good for two shots--the latest thing in pistols at that time. They went straight to Cornelius Lynch's cabin, where the leading grumblers were assembled. The skipper was about to kick open the door and stuff the jewels into their insatiable maws when a guarded, anxious voice at his elbow arrested him with one foot drawn back. The voice was that of Mary Kavanagh.
"Whist!" said Mary. "Bes that yerself, Denny Nolan?"
"I heard a sound on the cliff, to the north," said Mary. "The sound o' a horse nickerin' an' men cursin' it for the same."
"A horse?" queried the skipper. And then, "On the cliff to the north? Where the divil has ye been to, Mary Kavanagh?"
"Whist! Hark to that!" exclaimed the girl.
"Sure, skipper, 'twas somethin' up back yonder," whispered Bill Brennen. "It sounded to meself like a gun slammin' agin a rock."
"Would it be that stranger lad?" queried Dennis, anxiously.
"Nay, he bes safe enough," said Mary. "But hark to that, now! There bes a whole crew up yonder."
The skipper opened Cornelius Lynch's door, but not with his foot as he had formerly intended.
"Turn out an' git yer guns, men. There bes trouble a-foot," he said, quietly. Then, laying a hand on Mary's shoulder, he whispered, "Git Pat an' yerself to my house an' fasten up the doors. It bes a strong house, lass, an' if there bes any gunnin' ye'll be safe there."
"Ye needn't be worryin' for Flora Lockhart," said Mary. "She bes safe enough--herself an' the captain--a-sailing away in the bully this half-hour back."
The skipper's hand tightened on her shoulder; but she did not flinch. In the light from the open door he stared at her--and she stared back at him, glance for glance. There was astonishment in his eyes rather than anger, and a question rather than condemnation. He was about to speak when the smashing report of a musket rang out from the slope and a slug splintered the edge of the open door. The skipper pushed Mary away from him.