"I can't stand this," declared Jack, his voice shaking. "You must stop firing, Lolie, and lie down in the bottom of the boat." "Not I," cried the woman exultantly. "Do you think I'll hide on the flooring-boards now--now that I am being of some use; no, Jack, never!" and she shut her mouth with a snap of determination. Jack fairly groaned in his distress, and with a tragic face bent to his work in silence. But Loyola was all remorse in a moment when she saw how her words had hurt him. "Oh, Jack," she cried out miserably, her passionate nature jumping from the heights of exultation to the very depths of self-reproach. "I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it! I'll do whatever you like, I swear I will. I'll lie flat in the bottom of the boat and never stir if you wish it." The sensitive woman was greatly upset when she perceived how her quick, thoughtless words and refusal to obey Jack's request had made him feel his helplessness with a heavier weight than ever, and eagerly she tried to make amends. But, at her words, Jack regained more of his old self. He knew well what it would cost her to lie down and take no part in the affray now that her blood was up, and though the thought of her being hit made him tremble, he gave in, saying: "No, Lolie, you're quite right. Go on firing; you're our chief hope now, and I was a fool to think we could do without you." "Dear old boy!" muttered the woman softly, below her breath. "I know what you thought and what you feared." Then she rose to her feet and fired again, just as Dago Charlie was lifting his gun to shoot. The castaways, watching the result of her shot, saw the buccaneer's gun drop from his hand, and, as he fell back into his seat, they cheered huskily. "Copped it, the devil! Copped it this time," cried Bill. "Great shootin', mum. I'll sure cut the badge off my arm an' give it to you," referring to his marksman's badge. "I reckon that maroonin' buckaroo's feelin' partic'lar pensif, not to say some perturbed," drawled Broncho, with a low note of satisfaction in his voice. "Broncho, you and Bill cease rowing. Get your breath and come into the firing-line," broke in Jack sharply. "Tari and I can keep the boat going, and Jim can take the steering-oar. A little more shooting like that and the dago will get sick of it," he explained. The two men unshipped their oars with alacrity, and, with Jim, clambered aft. "What are you sightin' at, mum?" asked Bill deferentially. "You sure 'as the range proper." "Two-fifty. They're not getting any nearer, either; do you think so, Bill?" "No, mum, they ain't. They're just doin' a dockyard dip now. They ain't none eager to shorten your range, I'm reckoning." Benson's first shot keeled over another man, and the leading boat stopped pulling again. Anxiously the castaways watched her. Evidently a heated discussion was going on.