light, he staggered back.  Then a revolver in the man’s hand went off like the roar of a cannon.  All Joe realized was that he was being shot at, while his legs manifested an overwhelming desire to get away.  Even if he had so wished, he could not very well have stayed to explain to the excited man with the smoking revolver.  So he took to his heels for the beach, colliding with another man with a dark lantern who came running around the end of one of the piles of iron.  This second man quickly regained his feet, and peppered away at Joe as he flew down the bank.

He dashed out into the water for the boat.  French Pete at the bow-oars and ’Frisco Kid at the stroke had the skiff’s nose pointed seaward and were calmly awaiting his arrival.  They had their oars ready for the start, but they held them quietly at rest, for all that both men on the bank had begun to fire at them.  The other skiff lay closer inshore, partially aground.  Bill was trying to shove it off, and was calling on the Cockney to lend a hand; but that gentleman had lost his head completely, and came floundering through the water hard after Joe.  No sooner had Joe climbed in over the stern than he followed him.  This extra weight on the stern of the heavily loaded craft nearly swamped them.  As it was, a dangerous quantity of water was shipped.  In the meantime the men on the bank had reloaded their pistols and opened fire again, this time with better aim.  The alarm had spread.  Voices and cries could be heard from the ships on the pier, along which men were running.  In the distance a police whistle was being frantically blown.

“Get out!” ’Frisco Kid shouted.  “You ain’t a-going to sink us if I know it.  Go and help your pardner.”

But the Cockney’s teeth were chattering with fright, and he was too unnerved to move or speak.

“T’row ze crazy man out!” French Pete ordered from the bow.  At this moment a bullet shattered an oar in his hand, and he coolly proceeded to ship a spare one.

“Give us a hand, Joe,” ’Frisco Kid commanded.

Joe understood, and together they seized the terror-stricken creature and flung him overboard.  Two or three bullets splashed about him as he came to the surface, just in time to be picked up by Bill, who had at last succeeded in getting clear.

“Now!” French Pete called, and a few strokes into the darkness quickly took them out of the zone of fire.

So much water had been shipped that the light skiff was in danger of sinking at any moment.  While the other two rowed, and by the Frenchman’s orders, Joe began to throw out the iron.  This saved them for the time being.  But just as they swept alongside the Dazzler the skiff lurched, shoved a side under, and turned turtle, sending the remainder of the iron to bottom.  Joe and ’Frisco Kid came up side by side, and together they clambered aboard with the skiff’s painter in tow.  French Pete had already arrived, and now helped them out.