Crash!
Another window fell in a shower about him. He tried to get the
door on the opposite side of the pilot house open, but locked it
instead and dropped the key on the floor.
All this time the "Fat Marie's" paddle wheel was backing water
and the craft, now swung almost broadside to the stream, was
working her way over toward the Iowa shore.
Bang!
A section of the pilot-house door fell shattering on the inside,
and what sounded like a volley of musketry, rattled against the
harder woodwork of the pilot house itself.
Frightened almost out of all sense, Cummings began groping
excitedly for his revolver. At last he found it, more by
accident than through any methodical search for it.
The pilot began to shoot. Some of his bullets went through the
roof, others through the broken out windows, while a couple
landed in the door.
At last the half-crazed Cummings was snapping the hammer on
empty chambers. He had emptied his revolver without hitting
anything more than wood and water.
The fusillade from the outside still continued.
By this time the din had begun to arouse the passengers on
the boat.
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