there, counting the seconds, knowing that he and his slowly
drifting surf-boat were still in the full white fulgor of the wavering
searchlight. He lay there as a second shot came whistling overhead,
spitting into the water within three feet of him. Then a third bullet
came, this time tearing through the wood of the boat bottom beside him.
And he still waited, without moving, wondering what the next shot would
do. He still waited, his passive body horripilating with a vast
indignation at the thought of the injustice of it all, at the thought
that he must lie there and let half-baked dagoes shower his
unprotesting back with lead. But he lay there, still counting the
seconds, as the boat drifted slowly out on the quietly moving tide.

Then a new discovery disturbed him. It obliterated his momentary joy
at the thought that they were no longer targeting down at him. He
could feel the water slowly rising about his prostrate body. He
realized that the boat in which he lay was filling. He calmly figured
out that with the body of the dead man and the cartridge-cases about
him it was carrying a dead weight of nearly half a ton. And through
the bullet hole in its bottom the water was rushing in.

Yet he could do nothing. He could make no move. For at the slightest
betrayal of life, he knew, still another volley would come from that
ever-menacing steamer's deck. He counted the minutes, painfully,
methodically, feeling the water rise higher and higher about his body.
The thought of this rising water and what it meant did not fill him
with panic. He seemed more the prey of a deep and sullen resentment
that his plans should be so gratuitously interfered with, that his
approach to the _Trunella_ should be so foolishly delayed, that so many
cross-purposes should postpone and imperil his quest of Binhart.

He knew, by the slowly diminishing sounds, that he was drifting further
and further away from Tankred and his crowded fore-deck. But he was
still within the area of that ever-betraying searchlight. Some time,
he knew, he must drift beyond it. But until that moment came he dare
make no move to keep himself afloat.

By slowly turning his head an inch or two he was able to measure the
height of the gunwale above the water. Then he made note of where an
oar lay, asking himself how long he could keep afloat on a timber so
small, wondering how far he could be from land. Then he suddenly fell
to questioning if the waters