wharf. His fellow followed with less injury, in his effort to escape a second hurtling keg, which, meeting with no resistance, pursued him even to the deck, where the force of its impact split its seams.
None of the combatants noticed that the powder that filtered out was black and coarse. Alan, indeed, had only the haziest notion that gunpowder kegs were his ammunition. He had discharged the last of a dozen more when he became aware that Judith had climbed up the rigging and, lightly poised, was drawing a revolver preparatory to coming ashore.
In the same breath he heard a friendly shout of warning far up the dock, and knew that Barcus was coming to his aid.
Judith's revolver fell level with his head, and he thought that his last minute had dawned. He made a forlorn attempt to dash in under the weapon and grapple with her, but it was not that which caused the weapon, even as the woman pulled the trigger, to lift from its deadly aim and explode harmlessly in the air. Alan closed with her, wrested the pistol from her grasp, and mechanically tossed it aside. It went over the end of the wharf and fell on the deck of the schooner.
It was an old-fashioned weapon, and the force with which it struck the deck released the hammer.
