"Looks to
be about three miles to me. A little long, mebbe, for this gun,
but--there's nothin' like tryin'," and he sighted carefully.
"Fire," he bawled as the _Maggie_ rested an instant in the trough
of the sea--and a deckhand jerked the lanyard. Instantly Mr.
Gibney clapped the long glass to his eye.
"Good direction--over," he murmured. "I'll lay on her waterline
next time." He jerked open the breech, ejected the cartridge
case, and rammed another cartridge home. This shot struck the
water directly under the schooner's bow and threw water over her
forecastle head. Mr. Gibney smiled, spat overboard, and winked
confidently at Captain Scraggs. "Like spearin' fish in a bath
tub," he declared. He bent over the fuse setter. "Corrector three
zero," he intoned, "four eight hundred." He thrust a cartridge in
the fuse setter, twisted it, slammed it in the gun, and fired
again. The water broke into tiny waterspouts over a considerable
area some two hundred yards short of the schooner, so Mr. Gibney
raised his range to five thousand and tried again. "Over," he
growled.
Something whined over the _Maggie_ and threw up a waterspout half
a mile beyond her.
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