"Don't be frightened, but I think there may be a little excitement out here pretty soon."
"Some of the 'swampers' up to a bit of thieving, I fancy."
She found him, clad only in shirt and trousers, leaning against the side of the cabin, and staring shoreward. She divined his frank smile, and smiled in return.
"I'm almost sure of it," he answered in the same tone. "I heard a boat bump against the side of the _Wisp_ a few minutes ago. I think they were drifting down with the tide to reconnoitre, and were swept in closer than they had expected to be."
"On the locker there. Lucky Danton lent me one of his. You aren't afraid?"
"I dare say they won't come back. Listen now! See if you can make out anything to starboard. I'll watch on this side."
The night was very dark. The stars were obscured by light clouds, nor was there a moon visible. Their eyes could penetrate the darkness little farther than the rails where a whitish mist hid the surface of the water.
Betty gazed intently. A sidelong glance showed her Fessenden kneeling on the locker opposite her, his half-bared arms folded on his chest. His powerful form gave her a comforting sense of protection. She stared again to starboard.
From the mist two great hands gripped the rail of the sloop! Then a face--the face of a negro--rose into view, a knife gripped in his teeth. So impossible, so barbaric, did the apparition seem, that for a long breath Betty stared spell-bound.
Then her scream whirled Fessenden about. He crossed the cockpit at a bound, and struck savagely at the negro's jaw. The latter ducked with the skill of a trained boxer. Throwing up a hand, he caught the other by the throat, dragging him forward.
Fessenden struck again, grappled with his antagonist, tottered, and plunged headforemost over the rail upon him. Both went down struggling wildly.
Betty snatched up the revolver, hardly knowing what she did, and stared down upon the boiling water.
Fessenden's ghastly face, his groping fingers, his throat from which stood up the handle of the recking knife! The possibility of these things strained her mind to the breaking point. A horror of what the loss of him would mean to her drew a piercing cry:
As if summoned by the sound, the two men rose into view--a yard apart. Betty fired on the instant. The shot went wild, but the negro, for the first time aware that firearms were at hand, dived deep. They saw him but once again, his head a black spot in the mist as he swam frenziedly for his drifting punt.