Chapter Thirty Four.An Awkward Pursuer.It was wonderful how different the future looked after that picnic dinner by the river-side. The bread and butter were perfect, and the cray-fish as delicious as the choicest prawns. The water that glided past the bank was like crystal; the evening sun lit up the scene with orange and gold; and as the two boys lolled restfully upon the bank listening to the murmur of the running water, the twitter of birds, and the distant lowing of some ox, they thoroughly appreciated everything, even the rest after their tiring night’s work and toilsome day.“Are we going on now!” said Dexter at last.“What for?” asked Bob, as he lay upon his back, with his head in a tuft of heath.“I don’t know.”“What’s the good of going on? What’s the good o’ being in a hurry?”“I’m not in a hurry, only I should like to get to an island where there’s plenty of fruit.”“Ah, we shan’t get to one to-day!” said Bob, yawning. Then there was silence; and Dexter lay back watching the beautiful river, and the brown boat as it swung easily by its chain.Soon a butterfly flitted by—a beautiful orange brown butterfly covered with dark spots, dancing here and there over the sylvan nook, and the next minute Dexter as he lay on his back felt cool, and began wondering while he looked straight up at the stars, fancying he had been called.He felt as if he had never seen so many stars before glittering in the dark purple sky, and he began wondering how it was that one minute he had been looking at that spotted butterfly, and the next at the stars.And then it dawned upon him that he must have been fast asleep for many hours, and if he had felt any doubt about this being the right solution of his position a low gurgling snore on his left told that Bob Dimsted was sleeping still.It was a novel and curious sensation that of waking up in the silence and darkness, with the leaves whispering, and that impression still upon him that he had been called.“It must have been old Dan’l,” he had thought at first. “Perhaps he was in search of them,” and he listened intently. Or it might have been the men who had come upon them where they had the first fire, and they had seen this one.“No, they couldn’t see this one, for it was out.”Dexter was about to conclude that it was all imagination, when, from far away in the wood he heard, in the most startling way:—Hoi hoi—hoo hoo!He started to his feet, and was about to waken Bob, when a great ghostly-looking bird came sweeping along the river, turned in at the nook quite low down, and then seemed to describe a curve, passing just over his head, and uttered a wild and piercing shriek that was appalling.Dexter’s blood ran cold, as the cry seemed to thrill all down his spine, and in his horror he made a rush to run away anywhere from the terrible thing which had startled him.But his ill luck made him once more startle Bob from his slumbers, for, as he ran blindly to reach the shelter of the wood, he fell right over the sleeping boy, and went down headlong.“Here! I—oh, please sir, don’t sir—don’t sir,—it was that other boy, sir, it wasn’t me, sir. It was—was—it was—why, what games are you up to now!”“Hush! Bob. Quick! Let’s run.”“Run!” said Bob excitedly, as the frightened boy clung to him. “I thought they’d come.”“Yes, they’re calling to one another in the wood,” whispered Dexter excitedly; “and there was a horrid something flew up, and shrieked out.”“Why, I heerd it, and dreamed it was you.”“Come away—come away!” cried Dexter. “There, hark!”Hoi hoi—hoi hoi! came from not far away.“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Bob. “You are a one!” and putting his hands to his mouth, to Dexter’s great astonishment he produced a very good imitation of the cry.“Why, you’ll have them hear us and come,” he whispered.“Yah! you are a coward! Why, it’s an old howl.”“Owl! calling like that!”“Yes, to be sure. I’ve heerd ’em lots o’ times when I’ve been late fishing up the river.”“But there was a big thing flew over my head, and it shrieked out.”“That was a howl too. Some of ’em shouts, and some of ’em screeches. I say, I hope you’ve kept a heye on the boat!”“Are you sure that other was an owl too!” said Dexter excitedly.“Course I am. Think I’ve been out in the woods with father after the fezzans, and stopping out all night, without knowing a howl?”Dexter felt quite warm now.“I never heard one before, and it frightened me.”“Yes, you’re easily frightened,” said Bob contemptuously. “You haven’t been to sleep, have you!”“Yes, I have.”“Then you oughtn’t to have been. If you’ve been to sleep and let that boat go, I’ll never forgive you.”Bob had hardly uttered the words when Dexter, who had forgotten all about the boat, ran to the water’s edge feeling sure that it was gone.But it was quite safe, and he went back to Bob.“What shall we do now!” he said.“Do?” said Bob, yawning. “You sit and keep watch while I go to sleep for a quarter of an hour. Then you may call me, and I’ll take my turn.”Bob curled himself up after the fashion of a dog, and went off to sleep directly, while, as Dexter, who felt chilly, began to walk up and down between the water’s edge and the steep cliff-like bank, he could not help once more wishing that he was in his comfortable bed at the doctor’s.He waited for long over a quarter of an hour, keeping his lonely watch, but Bob slept on and snored.At the end of about an hour and a half he thought it would only be fair to call his companion to take his turn, but he called in vain.Then he tried shaking, but only to elicit growls, and when he persevered Bob hit out so savagely that Dexter was fain to desist.“I’ll let him sleep half an hour longer,” he said to himself; and he walked to and fro to keep himself warm.It must have been after an hour that he called Bob again.“All right,” said that worthy.“But it isn’t all right,” cried Dexter. “It ain’t fair. Come: get up.”“All right! I’ll get up directly. Call me in about ten minutes.”Dexter waited a little while, and called his companion. But in vain.And so it went on, with the sleeper sometimes apologetic, sometimes imploring, till it was broad daylight; and then Bob rose and shook himself.“I say, ’tain’t fair,” said Dexter ill-humouredly.“Well, why didn’t you make me get up!”“I did try, lots of times.”“But you didn’t half try. You should have got me quite awake.”“It’s too bad, and I’m as sleepy as can be,” grumbled Dexter.“Here! whatcher going to do?” cried Bob.“Lie down and sleep till breakfast-time.”“Oh, are yer?” cried Bob. “We’ve got to go and catch our breakfasts.”“What, now?”“To be sure. I’m getting hungry. Come along. I’ll find a good place, and it’s your turn now to get some cray-fish.”“But I’m so cold and sleepy.”“Well, that’ll warm yer. There, don’t look sulky.”Bob got into the boat and unfastened the chain, so that there was nothing left for Dexter to do but follow; and they rowed away down the river, which was widening fast.The exercise and the rising sun sent warmth and brighter thoughts into Dexter, so that he was better able to undertake the task of searching the holes for cray-fish when the boat was brought up under a suitable bank, and urged on by Bob he had to undress and take an unwilling bath, and a breakfast-hunt at the same time.He was clumsy, and unaccustomed to the task, but driven by Bob’s bullying tones, and helped by the fact that the little crustaceans were pretty plentiful, he managed to get a dozen and a half in about an hour.“There, come out, and dress now,” said Bob ill-humouredly. “It’s more trouble to tell you than to have got ’em myself. I’d ha’ found twice as many in the time.”Dexter shivered, and then began to enjoy the warmth of his garments after as good a wipe as he could manage with a pocket-handkerchief. But it was the row afterwards that gave the required warmth—a row which was continued till another farm-house was seen beside a great cider orchard.Here Dexter had to land with sixpence and the empty bottle.“I promised to take that there bottle back,” said Bob, with a grin, “but I shan’t now. Lookye here. You make ’em give you a good lot of bread and butter for the sixpence, and if they asks you any questions, you say we’re two gentlemen out for a holiday.”Dexter landed, and went up to the farm-house, through whose open door he could see a warm fire, and inhale a most appetising odour of cooking bacon and hot coffee.A pleasant-faced woman came to the door, and her ways and looks were the first cheery incidents of Dexter’s trip.“Sixpennyworth of bread and butter, and some milk?” she said. “Yes, of course.”She prepared a liberal exchange for Dexter’s coin, and then after filling the bottle put the boy’s chivalry to the test.“Why, you look as if you wanted your breakfast,” she said. “Have a cup of warm coffee?”Dexter’s eyes brightened, and he was about to sayyes. But he saidno, for it seemed unfair to live better than his comrade, and just then the vision of Bob Dimsted looking very jealous and ill-humoured rose before him.“I’m in a hurry to get back,” he said.The woman nodded, and Dexter hastened back to the water-side.“I was just a-going without yer,” was his greeting. “What a while you’ve been!”“I was as quick as I could be,” said Dexter apologetically.“No, you weren’t, and don’t give me none of your sarce,” said Bob. “Kitch holt o’ that scull and pull. D’yer hear!”Dexter obeyed, and they rowed on for about a mile before a suitable place was found for landing and lighting a fire, when, after a good deal of ogreish grumbling, consequent upon Bob wanting his breakfast, a similar meal to that of the previous day was eaten, and they started once more on their journey down-stream to the sea, and the golden land which would recompense Dexter, as he told himself, for all this discomfort, the rough brutality of his companion, and the prickings of conscience which he felt whenever Coleby occurred to his mind, and the face of Helen looked reproach into the very depth of his inner consciousness.All that morning, when they again started, he found the river widen and change. Instead of being clear, and the stones visible at the bottom, the banks were further away, so were the hills, and the water was muddy. What was more strange to Dexter was that instead of the stream carrying them along it came to meet them.At last Bob decided that they would moor by the bank, and begin once more to fish.They landed and got some worms, and for a time had very fair sport, taking it in turns to catch some small rounded silvery and creamy transparent fish, something like dace, but what they were even Bob did not know. He was never at a loss, however, and he christened them sea-gudgeon.Dexter was just landing one when a sour-looking man in a shabby old paintless boat came by close to the shore, and looked at them searchingly. But he looked harder at the boat as he went by, turned in, as it seemed, and rowed right into the land.“There must be a little river there,” Bob said. “We’ll look presently. I say, didn’t he stare!”Almost as he spoke the man came out again into the tidal river and rowed away, went up some distance, and they had almost forgotten him when they saw him come slowly along, close inshore.“Bob,” whispered Dexter, “he’s after us.”To which Bob responded with a contemptuous—“Yah!”“Much sport?” said the man, passing abreast of their boat about half a dozen yards away, and keeping that by dipping his oars from time to time.“Pretty fair,” said Bob, taking the rod. “’Bout a dozen.”“What fish are they!” said Dexter eagerly, and he held up one.“Smelts,” said the man, with a peculiar look. “Come fishing?”“Yes,” said Bob sharply. “We’ve come for a day or two’s fishing.”“That’s right,” said the man, with a smile that was a little less pleasant than his scowl. “I’m a fisherman too.”“Oh, are yer?” said Bob.“Yes, that’s what I am.”“He ain’t after us,” whispered Bob. “It’s all right.”Dexter did not feel as if it was. He had an innate dislike to the man, who looked furtive and underhanded.“Got a tidy boat there,” said the man at last.“Yes, she’s a good un to go along,” said Bob.“Wouldn’t sell her, I s’pose!” said the man.“What should we sell her for?” said Bob, hooking and landing a fish coolly enough.“I d’know. Thought you might want to part with her,” said the man. “I wouldn’t mind giving fifteen shillings for a boat like that.”“Yah!” cried Bob mockingly. “Why, she’s worth thirty at least.”“Bob!” whispered Dexter excitedly. “You mustn’t sell her.”“You hold your tongue.”“I wouldn’t give thirty shillings for her,” said the man, coming close now and mooring his own crazy craft by holding on to the gunwale of the gig. “She’s too old.”“That she ain’t,” cried Bob. “Why, she’s nearly new.”“Not she. Only been varnished up, that’s all. I’ll give you a pound for her.”“No,” said Bob, to Dexter’s great relief.“I’ll give you a pound for her, and my old ’un chucked in,” said the man. “It’s more than she’s worth, but I know a man who wants such a boat as that.”“You mustn’t sell her, Bob,” whispered Dexter, who was now in agony.“You hold your row. I know what I’m a-doing of.”“Look here,” said the man, “I’m going a little farder, and I’ll fetch the money, and then if you like to take it we’ll trade. It’s more’n she’s worth, though, and you’d get my little boat in, as is as good a boat as ever swum.”He pushed off and rowed away, while, as soon as he was out of sight, Dexter attacked his companion with vigour.“We mustn’t sell her, Bob,” he said.“Why not? She’s our’n now.”“No, she isn’t; and we’ve promised to take her back.”“Look here!” said Bob, “have you got any money?”“No, but we shan’t want any as soon as we get to the island.”“Yes, we shall, and a pound would be no end of good.”“But we would have to give up our voyage.”“No, we shouldn’t. We’d make his boat do.”“But it’s such a shabby one. We mustn’t sell the boat, Bob.”“Look here! I’m captain, and I shall do as I like.”“Then I shall tell the man the boat isn’t ours.”“If you do I’ll knock your eye out. See if I don’t,” cried Bob fiercely.Dexter felt hot, and his fists clenched involuntarily, but he sat very still.“If I like to sell the boat I shall. We want the money, and the other boat will do.”“I say it won’t,” said Dexter sharply.“Why, hullo!” cried Bob, laughing. “Here’s cheek.”“I don’t care, it would be stealing Sir James’s boat, and I say it shan’t be done.”“Oh, yer do—do yer!” said Bob, in a bullying tone.“You won’t be happy till I’ve given you such a licking as’ll make yer teeth ache. Now, just you hold your row, and wait till I gets yer ashore, and you shall have it. I’d give it to yer now, only I should knock yer overboard and drown’d yer, and I don’t want to do that the first time.”Bob went on fishing, and Dexter sat biting his lip, and feeling as he used to feel when he had had a caning for something he had not done.“I shall do just as I please,” said Bob, giving his head a waggle, as if to show his authority. “So you’ve got to sit still and look on. And if you says anything about where the boat came from, I shall tell the man you took it.”“And, if you do, I shall tell him it’s a lie,” cried Dexter, as fiercely as his companion; and just then he saw the man coming back.
It was wonderful how different the future looked after that picnic dinner by the river-side. The bread and butter were perfect, and the cray-fish as delicious as the choicest prawns. The water that glided past the bank was like crystal; the evening sun lit up the scene with orange and gold; and as the two boys lolled restfully upon the bank listening to the murmur of the running water, the twitter of birds, and the distant lowing of some ox, they thoroughly appreciated everything, even the rest after their tiring night’s work and toilsome day.
“Are we going on now!” said Dexter at last.
“What for?” asked Bob, as he lay upon his back, with his head in a tuft of heath.
“I don’t know.”
“What’s the good of going on? What’s the good o’ being in a hurry?”
“I’m not in a hurry, only I should like to get to an island where there’s plenty of fruit.”
“Ah, we shan’t get to one to-day!” said Bob, yawning. Then there was silence; and Dexter lay back watching the beautiful river, and the brown boat as it swung easily by its chain.
Soon a butterfly flitted by—a beautiful orange brown butterfly covered with dark spots, dancing here and there over the sylvan nook, and the next minute Dexter as he lay on his back felt cool, and began wondering while he looked straight up at the stars, fancying he had been called.
He felt as if he had never seen so many stars before glittering in the dark purple sky, and he began wondering how it was that one minute he had been looking at that spotted butterfly, and the next at the stars.
And then it dawned upon him that he must have been fast asleep for many hours, and if he had felt any doubt about this being the right solution of his position a low gurgling snore on his left told that Bob Dimsted was sleeping still.
It was a novel and curious sensation that of waking up in the silence and darkness, with the leaves whispering, and that impression still upon him that he had been called.
“It must have been old Dan’l,” he had thought at first. “Perhaps he was in search of them,” and he listened intently. Or it might have been the men who had come upon them where they had the first fire, and they had seen this one.
“No, they couldn’t see this one, for it was out.”
Dexter was about to conclude that it was all imagination, when, from far away in the wood he heard, in the most startling way:—Hoi hoi—hoo hoo!
He started to his feet, and was about to waken Bob, when a great ghostly-looking bird came sweeping along the river, turned in at the nook quite low down, and then seemed to describe a curve, passing just over his head, and uttered a wild and piercing shriek that was appalling.
Dexter’s blood ran cold, as the cry seemed to thrill all down his spine, and in his horror he made a rush to run away anywhere from the terrible thing which had startled him.
But his ill luck made him once more startle Bob from his slumbers, for, as he ran blindly to reach the shelter of the wood, he fell right over the sleeping boy, and went down headlong.
“Here! I—oh, please sir, don’t sir—don’t sir,—it was that other boy, sir, it wasn’t me, sir. It was—was—it was—why, what games are you up to now!”
“Hush! Bob. Quick! Let’s run.”
“Run!” said Bob excitedly, as the frightened boy clung to him. “I thought they’d come.”
“Yes, they’re calling to one another in the wood,” whispered Dexter excitedly; “and there was a horrid something flew up, and shrieked out.”
“Why, I heerd it, and dreamed it was you.”
“Come away—come away!” cried Dexter. “There, hark!”
Hoi hoi—hoi hoi! came from not far away.
“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Bob. “You are a one!” and putting his hands to his mouth, to Dexter’s great astonishment he produced a very good imitation of the cry.
“Why, you’ll have them hear us and come,” he whispered.
“Yah! you are a coward! Why, it’s an old howl.”
“Owl! calling like that!”
“Yes, to be sure. I’ve heerd ’em lots o’ times when I’ve been late fishing up the river.”
“But there was a big thing flew over my head, and it shrieked out.”
“That was a howl too. Some of ’em shouts, and some of ’em screeches. I say, I hope you’ve kept a heye on the boat!”
“Are you sure that other was an owl too!” said Dexter excitedly.
“Course I am. Think I’ve been out in the woods with father after the fezzans, and stopping out all night, without knowing a howl?”
Dexter felt quite warm now.
“I never heard one before, and it frightened me.”
“Yes, you’re easily frightened,” said Bob contemptuously. “You haven’t been to sleep, have you!”
“Yes, I have.”
“Then you oughtn’t to have been. If you’ve been to sleep and let that boat go, I’ll never forgive you.”
Bob had hardly uttered the words when Dexter, who had forgotten all about the boat, ran to the water’s edge feeling sure that it was gone.
But it was quite safe, and he went back to Bob.
“What shall we do now!” he said.
“Do?” said Bob, yawning. “You sit and keep watch while I go to sleep for a quarter of an hour. Then you may call me, and I’ll take my turn.”
Bob curled himself up after the fashion of a dog, and went off to sleep directly, while, as Dexter, who felt chilly, began to walk up and down between the water’s edge and the steep cliff-like bank, he could not help once more wishing that he was in his comfortable bed at the doctor’s.
He waited for long over a quarter of an hour, keeping his lonely watch, but Bob slept on and snored.
At the end of about an hour and a half he thought it would only be fair to call his companion to take his turn, but he called in vain.
Then he tried shaking, but only to elicit growls, and when he persevered Bob hit out so savagely that Dexter was fain to desist.
“I’ll let him sleep half an hour longer,” he said to himself; and he walked to and fro to keep himself warm.
It must have been after an hour that he called Bob again.
“All right,” said that worthy.
“But it isn’t all right,” cried Dexter. “It ain’t fair. Come: get up.”
“All right! I’ll get up directly. Call me in about ten minutes.”
Dexter waited a little while, and called his companion. But in vain.
And so it went on, with the sleeper sometimes apologetic, sometimes imploring, till it was broad daylight; and then Bob rose and shook himself.
“I say, ’tain’t fair,” said Dexter ill-humouredly.
“Well, why didn’t you make me get up!”
“I did try, lots of times.”
“But you didn’t half try. You should have got me quite awake.”
“It’s too bad, and I’m as sleepy as can be,” grumbled Dexter.
“Here! whatcher going to do?” cried Bob.
“Lie down and sleep till breakfast-time.”
“Oh, are yer?” cried Bob. “We’ve got to go and catch our breakfasts.”
“What, now?”
“To be sure. I’m getting hungry. Come along. I’ll find a good place, and it’s your turn now to get some cray-fish.”
“But I’m so cold and sleepy.”
“Well, that’ll warm yer. There, don’t look sulky.”
Bob got into the boat and unfastened the chain, so that there was nothing left for Dexter to do but follow; and they rowed away down the river, which was widening fast.
The exercise and the rising sun sent warmth and brighter thoughts into Dexter, so that he was better able to undertake the task of searching the holes for cray-fish when the boat was brought up under a suitable bank, and urged on by Bob he had to undress and take an unwilling bath, and a breakfast-hunt at the same time.
He was clumsy, and unaccustomed to the task, but driven by Bob’s bullying tones, and helped by the fact that the little crustaceans were pretty plentiful, he managed to get a dozen and a half in about an hour.
“There, come out, and dress now,” said Bob ill-humouredly. “It’s more trouble to tell you than to have got ’em myself. I’d ha’ found twice as many in the time.”
Dexter shivered, and then began to enjoy the warmth of his garments after as good a wipe as he could manage with a pocket-handkerchief. But it was the row afterwards that gave the required warmth—a row which was continued till another farm-house was seen beside a great cider orchard.
Here Dexter had to land with sixpence and the empty bottle.
“I promised to take that there bottle back,” said Bob, with a grin, “but I shan’t now. Lookye here. You make ’em give you a good lot of bread and butter for the sixpence, and if they asks you any questions, you say we’re two gentlemen out for a holiday.”
Dexter landed, and went up to the farm-house, through whose open door he could see a warm fire, and inhale a most appetising odour of cooking bacon and hot coffee.
A pleasant-faced woman came to the door, and her ways and looks were the first cheery incidents of Dexter’s trip.
“Sixpennyworth of bread and butter, and some milk?” she said. “Yes, of course.”
She prepared a liberal exchange for Dexter’s coin, and then after filling the bottle put the boy’s chivalry to the test.
“Why, you look as if you wanted your breakfast,” she said. “Have a cup of warm coffee?”
Dexter’s eyes brightened, and he was about to sayyes. But he saidno, for it seemed unfair to live better than his comrade, and just then the vision of Bob Dimsted looking very jealous and ill-humoured rose before him.
“I’m in a hurry to get back,” he said.
The woman nodded, and Dexter hastened back to the water-side.
“I was just a-going without yer,” was his greeting. “What a while you’ve been!”
“I was as quick as I could be,” said Dexter apologetically.
“No, you weren’t, and don’t give me none of your sarce,” said Bob. “Kitch holt o’ that scull and pull. D’yer hear!”
Dexter obeyed, and they rowed on for about a mile before a suitable place was found for landing and lighting a fire, when, after a good deal of ogreish grumbling, consequent upon Bob wanting his breakfast, a similar meal to that of the previous day was eaten, and they started once more on their journey down-stream to the sea, and the golden land which would recompense Dexter, as he told himself, for all this discomfort, the rough brutality of his companion, and the prickings of conscience which he felt whenever Coleby occurred to his mind, and the face of Helen looked reproach into the very depth of his inner consciousness.
All that morning, when they again started, he found the river widen and change. Instead of being clear, and the stones visible at the bottom, the banks were further away, so were the hills, and the water was muddy. What was more strange to Dexter was that instead of the stream carrying them along it came to meet them.
At last Bob decided that they would moor by the bank, and begin once more to fish.
They landed and got some worms, and for a time had very fair sport, taking it in turns to catch some small rounded silvery and creamy transparent fish, something like dace, but what they were even Bob did not know. He was never at a loss, however, and he christened them sea-gudgeon.
Dexter was just landing one when a sour-looking man in a shabby old paintless boat came by close to the shore, and looked at them searchingly. But he looked harder at the boat as he went by, turned in, as it seemed, and rowed right into the land.
“There must be a little river there,” Bob said. “We’ll look presently. I say, didn’t he stare!”
Almost as he spoke the man came out again into the tidal river and rowed away, went up some distance, and they had almost forgotten him when they saw him come slowly along, close inshore.
“Bob,” whispered Dexter, “he’s after us.”
To which Bob responded with a contemptuous—
“Yah!”
“Much sport?” said the man, passing abreast of their boat about half a dozen yards away, and keeping that by dipping his oars from time to time.
“Pretty fair,” said Bob, taking the rod. “’Bout a dozen.”
“What fish are they!” said Dexter eagerly, and he held up one.
“Smelts,” said the man, with a peculiar look. “Come fishing?”
“Yes,” said Bob sharply. “We’ve come for a day or two’s fishing.”
“That’s right,” said the man, with a smile that was a little less pleasant than his scowl. “I’m a fisherman too.”
“Oh, are yer?” said Bob.
“Yes, that’s what I am.”
“He ain’t after us,” whispered Bob. “It’s all right.”
Dexter did not feel as if it was. He had an innate dislike to the man, who looked furtive and underhanded.
“Got a tidy boat there,” said the man at last.
“Yes, she’s a good un to go along,” said Bob.
“Wouldn’t sell her, I s’pose!” said the man.
“What should we sell her for?” said Bob, hooking and landing a fish coolly enough.
“I d’know. Thought you might want to part with her,” said the man. “I wouldn’t mind giving fifteen shillings for a boat like that.”
“Yah!” cried Bob mockingly. “Why, she’s worth thirty at least.”
“Bob!” whispered Dexter excitedly. “You mustn’t sell her.”
“You hold your tongue.”
“I wouldn’t give thirty shillings for her,” said the man, coming close now and mooring his own crazy craft by holding on to the gunwale of the gig. “She’s too old.”
“That she ain’t,” cried Bob. “Why, she’s nearly new.”
“Not she. Only been varnished up, that’s all. I’ll give you a pound for her.”
“No,” said Bob, to Dexter’s great relief.
“I’ll give you a pound for her, and my old ’un chucked in,” said the man. “It’s more than she’s worth, but I know a man who wants such a boat as that.”
“You mustn’t sell her, Bob,” whispered Dexter, who was now in agony.
“You hold your row. I know what I’m a-doing of.”
“Look here,” said the man, “I’m going a little farder, and I’ll fetch the money, and then if you like to take it we’ll trade. It’s more’n she’s worth, though, and you’d get my little boat in, as is as good a boat as ever swum.”
He pushed off and rowed away, while, as soon as he was out of sight, Dexter attacked his companion with vigour.
“We mustn’t sell her, Bob,” he said.
“Why not? She’s our’n now.”
“No, she isn’t; and we’ve promised to take her back.”
“Look here!” said Bob, “have you got any money?”
“No, but we shan’t want any as soon as we get to the island.”
“Yes, we shall, and a pound would be no end of good.”
“But we would have to give up our voyage.”
“No, we shouldn’t. We’d make his boat do.”
“But it’s such a shabby one. We mustn’t sell the boat, Bob.”
“Look here! I’m captain, and I shall do as I like.”
“Then I shall tell the man the boat isn’t ours.”
“If you do I’ll knock your eye out. See if I don’t,” cried Bob fiercely.
Dexter felt hot, and his fists clenched involuntarily, but he sat very still.
“If I like to sell the boat I shall. We want the money, and the other boat will do.”
“I say it won’t,” said Dexter sharply.
“Why, hullo!” cried Bob, laughing. “Here’s cheek.”
“I don’t care, it would be stealing Sir James’s boat, and I say it shan’t be done.”
“Oh, yer do—do yer!” said Bob, in a bullying tone.
“You won’t be happy till I’ve given you such a licking as’ll make yer teeth ache. Now, just you hold your row, and wait till I gets yer ashore, and you shall have it. I’d give it to yer now, only I should knock yer overboard and drown’d yer, and I don’t want to do that the first time.”
Bob went on fishing, and Dexter sat biting his lip, and feeling as he used to feel when he had had a caning for something he had not done.
“I shall do just as I please,” said Bob, giving his head a waggle, as if to show his authority. “So you’ve got to sit still and look on. And if you says anything about where the boat came from, I shall tell the man you took it.”
“And, if you do, I shall tell him it’s a lie,” cried Dexter, as fiercely as his companion; and just then he saw the man coming back.
Chapter Thirty Five.Bob asks a Question.“Caught any more?” said the man.“Only one,” replied Bob.“Ah! I could show you a place where you could pull ’em up like anything. I say, though, the boat ain’t worth a pound.”“Oh yes, she is,” said Bob.“Not a pound and the boat too.”“Yes, she is,” said Bob, watching Dexter the while out of the corner of one eye.“I wouldn’t give a pound for her, only there’s a man I know wants just such a boat.”Dexter sat up, looking very determined, and ready to speak when he thought that the proper time had come, and Bob kept on watching him.“Look here!” said the man, “as you two’s come out fishing, I’ll give you fifteen shillings and my boat, and that’s more than yours is worth.”“No, you won’t,” said Bob.“Well, sixteen, then. Come, that’s a shilling too much.”Bob shook his head, hooked, and took a good-sized smelt off his hook.“It’s more than I care to give,” said the man, who grew warm as Bob seemed cold. “There, I’ll go another shilling—seventeen.”Bob still shook his head, and Dexter sat ready to burst out into an explosion of anger and threat if his companion sold the boat.“Nineteen, then,” said the man. “Nineteen, and my old un as rides the water like a duck. You won’t?”“No,” said Bob.“Well, then,” cried the man, “I’m off.”“All right,” said Bob coolly.“There, I’ll give you the twenty shillings, but you’ll have to give me sixpence back. Look here! I’ve got the money.”He showed and rattled the pound’s worth of silver he had.“Come on. You get into my boat, and I’ll get into yours.”“No, yer won’t,” said Bob. “I won’t sell it.”“What!” cried the man angrily, and he raised one of his oars from the water.“I won’t sell,” cried Bob, seizing the oars as he dropped his rod into the boat.“You mean to tell me that you’re going to make a fool of me like that!”He began to pull the little tub in which he sat toward the gig, but Bob was too quick for him. The gig glided through the water at double the rate possible to the old craft, and though it was boy against man, the former could easily hold his own.Fortunately they were not moored to the bank or the event might have been different, for the man had raised his oar as if with the intention of striking the boat in which the boys were seated.“Here, you, stop!” he shouted.Bob replied in dumb show with his sculls, dipping them as fast as he could, and looking very pale the while, till they were well out of reach, when he rested for a moment, and yelled back in defiant tones the one word—“Yah!”“All right, my lads,” shouted the fellow. “I know yer. You stole that boat, that’s what you’ve done!”“Row hard, Bob!” whispered Dexter.“It’s all very fine to say row hard. You kitch hold and help.”Dexter readily seized the second scull, and began to pull with so much energy and effect that they had soon passed the muddy creek up which the man had gone and come, and before long he was out of sight.“It was all your fun, Bob,” said Dexter, as they went on. “I thought you meant to sell the boat.”“So I did,” grumbled Bob; “only you were so disagreeable about it. How are we to get on for money when mine’s all done!”“I don’t know,” said Dexter dolefully. “Can’t we work for some?”“Yah! How can we work? I say, though, he knew you’d stolen the boat.”“I didn’t steal it, and it isn’t stolen,” said Dexter indignantly. “I wrote and told Sir James that we had only borrowed it, and I sent some money, and I shall send some more if we cannot find a way to get it back.”“See if they don’t call it stealing,” said Bob grimly. “Look there at the her’ns.”He nodded toward where a couple of the tall birds were standing heel-deep in the shallow water, intent upon their fishing, and so well accustomed to being preserved that they did not attempt to rise from their places.Dexter was so much interested in the birds that he forgot all about their late adventure.Then they rowed on for about a couple of hours, and their next proceeding was to look out for a suitable spot for their meal.There were no high cliff-like banks now, but here and there, alternating with meadows, patches of woodland came down to the water’s edge, and at one of these they stopped, fastened the boat to a tree where it was quite out of sight; and now for the first time they began to see boats passing along.So far the little tub in which the would-be purchaser of their gig was seated was the only one they had seen on the water, but they were approaching a village now, and in low places they had seen high posts a short distance from the water’s edge, on which were festooned long nets such as were used for the salmon at the time they run.As soon as they had landed, a fire was lit, the fish cleaned, and the remainder of the bread and butter left from the last meal brought ashore. After which, as an experiment, it was decided to roast the smelts before the blaze, a task they achieved with more or less success.As each fish was deemed sufficiently cooked it was eaten at once—a piece of bread forming the plate—and, with the exception of wanting salt, declared to be delicious.“Ever so much better than chub, Bob,” said Dexter, to which for a wonder that young gentleman agreed.Evening soon came on, and as it was considered doubtful whether they could find as satisfactory a place for their night’s rest as that where they were, it was decided to stop, and go on at sunrise next morning.“We shall get to the sea to-morrow,” said Bob, as he began to yawn. “I’m jolly glad of it, for I’m tired of the river, and I want to catch cod-fish and soles, and something big. Whatcher yawning for?”“I’m tired and sleepy,” said Dexter, as he sat upon the roots of an old tree, three or four yards from the water’s edge.“Yah! you’re always sleepy,” said Bob.“But I had to keep watch while you slept.”“So you will have to again.”“But that isn’t fair,” said Dexter, in ill-used tones. “It’s your turn to watch now.”“Well, I’ll watch half the night, if you watch the other,” said Bob. “That’s fair, isn’t it?”“Yes.”“Then I shall lie down now, and you can call me when it’s twelve o’clock.”“But I shan’t know when it is,” protested Dexter.“Well, I ain’t particular,” said Bob, stretching himself beneath the tree. “Guess what you think’s fair half, and I’ll get up then.”“But will you get up!” said Dexter.“Of course I will, if you call loud enough. There, don’t bother, I’m ever so tired with rowing, and I shall go to sleep at once.”Bob kept his word as soon as darkness had set in, and Dexter sat listening to the lapping of the water, and wondered whether, if they camped out like this in a foreign land, crocodiles would come out of the rivers and attack them.He sat down, for he soon grew tired of standing and walking about, and listened to Bob’s heavy breathing, for the boy had gone off at once.It was very dark under the trees, and he could only see the glint of a star from time to time. It felt cold too, but as he drew himself close together with his chin down upon his knees he soon forgot that, and began thinking about the two owls he had heard the past night. Then he thought about the long-legged herons he had seen fishing in the water; then about their own fishing, and what capital fish the smelts were.From that he began to think about hunting out the cray-fish from the banks, and how one of the little things had nipped his fingers quite sharply.Next he began to wonder what Helen Grayson thought about him, and what the doctor had said, and whether he should ever see them again, and whether he should like Bob any better after a time, when camping out with him, and how long it would be before they reached one of the beautiful hot countries, where you could gather cocoa-nuts off the trees and watch the lovely birds as they flitted round.And then he thought about how long it would be before he might venture to call Bob.And then he began thinking about nothing at all.When he opened his eyes next it was morning, with the sun shining brightly, and the birds singing, and Bob Dimsted had just kicked him in the side.“Here, I say, wake up,” he cried. “Why, you’ve been to sleep.”“Have I!” said Dexter sheepishly, as he stared helplessly at his companion.“Have yer? Yes; of course yer have,” cried Bob angrily. “Ain’t to be trusted for a moment. You’re always a-going to sleep. Whatcher been and done with that there boat!”
“Caught any more?” said the man.
“Only one,” replied Bob.
“Ah! I could show you a place where you could pull ’em up like anything. I say, though, the boat ain’t worth a pound.”
“Oh yes, she is,” said Bob.
“Not a pound and the boat too.”
“Yes, she is,” said Bob, watching Dexter the while out of the corner of one eye.
“I wouldn’t give a pound for her, only there’s a man I know wants just such a boat.”
Dexter sat up, looking very determined, and ready to speak when he thought that the proper time had come, and Bob kept on watching him.
“Look here!” said the man, “as you two’s come out fishing, I’ll give you fifteen shillings and my boat, and that’s more than yours is worth.”
“No, you won’t,” said Bob.
“Well, sixteen, then. Come, that’s a shilling too much.”
Bob shook his head, hooked, and took a good-sized smelt off his hook.
“It’s more than I care to give,” said the man, who grew warm as Bob seemed cold. “There, I’ll go another shilling—seventeen.”
Bob still shook his head, and Dexter sat ready to burst out into an explosion of anger and threat if his companion sold the boat.
“Nineteen, then,” said the man. “Nineteen, and my old un as rides the water like a duck. You won’t?”
“No,” said Bob.
“Well, then,” cried the man, “I’m off.”
“All right,” said Bob coolly.
“There, I’ll give you the twenty shillings, but you’ll have to give me sixpence back. Look here! I’ve got the money.”
He showed and rattled the pound’s worth of silver he had.
“Come on. You get into my boat, and I’ll get into yours.”
“No, yer won’t,” said Bob. “I won’t sell it.”
“What!” cried the man angrily, and he raised one of his oars from the water.
“I won’t sell,” cried Bob, seizing the oars as he dropped his rod into the boat.
“You mean to tell me that you’re going to make a fool of me like that!”
He began to pull the little tub in which he sat toward the gig, but Bob was too quick for him. The gig glided through the water at double the rate possible to the old craft, and though it was boy against man, the former could easily hold his own.
Fortunately they were not moored to the bank or the event might have been different, for the man had raised his oar as if with the intention of striking the boat in which the boys were seated.
“Here, you, stop!” he shouted.
Bob replied in dumb show with his sculls, dipping them as fast as he could, and looking very pale the while, till they were well out of reach, when he rested for a moment, and yelled back in defiant tones the one word—
“Yah!”
“All right, my lads,” shouted the fellow. “I know yer. You stole that boat, that’s what you’ve done!”
“Row hard, Bob!” whispered Dexter.
“It’s all very fine to say row hard. You kitch hold and help.”
Dexter readily seized the second scull, and began to pull with so much energy and effect that they had soon passed the muddy creek up which the man had gone and come, and before long he was out of sight.
“It was all your fun, Bob,” said Dexter, as they went on. “I thought you meant to sell the boat.”
“So I did,” grumbled Bob; “only you were so disagreeable about it. How are we to get on for money when mine’s all done!”
“I don’t know,” said Dexter dolefully. “Can’t we work for some?”
“Yah! How can we work? I say, though, he knew you’d stolen the boat.”
“I didn’t steal it, and it isn’t stolen,” said Dexter indignantly. “I wrote and told Sir James that we had only borrowed it, and I sent some money, and I shall send some more if we cannot find a way to get it back.”
“See if they don’t call it stealing,” said Bob grimly. “Look there at the her’ns.”
He nodded toward where a couple of the tall birds were standing heel-deep in the shallow water, intent upon their fishing, and so well accustomed to being preserved that they did not attempt to rise from their places.
Dexter was so much interested in the birds that he forgot all about their late adventure.
Then they rowed on for about a couple of hours, and their next proceeding was to look out for a suitable spot for their meal.
There were no high cliff-like banks now, but here and there, alternating with meadows, patches of woodland came down to the water’s edge, and at one of these they stopped, fastened the boat to a tree where it was quite out of sight; and now for the first time they began to see boats passing along.
So far the little tub in which the would-be purchaser of their gig was seated was the only one they had seen on the water, but they were approaching a village now, and in low places they had seen high posts a short distance from the water’s edge, on which were festooned long nets such as were used for the salmon at the time they run.
As soon as they had landed, a fire was lit, the fish cleaned, and the remainder of the bread and butter left from the last meal brought ashore. After which, as an experiment, it was decided to roast the smelts before the blaze, a task they achieved with more or less success.
As each fish was deemed sufficiently cooked it was eaten at once—a piece of bread forming the plate—and, with the exception of wanting salt, declared to be delicious.
“Ever so much better than chub, Bob,” said Dexter, to which for a wonder that young gentleman agreed.
Evening soon came on, and as it was considered doubtful whether they could find as satisfactory a place for their night’s rest as that where they were, it was decided to stop, and go on at sunrise next morning.
“We shall get to the sea to-morrow,” said Bob, as he began to yawn. “I’m jolly glad of it, for I’m tired of the river, and I want to catch cod-fish and soles, and something big. Whatcher yawning for?”
“I’m tired and sleepy,” said Dexter, as he sat upon the roots of an old tree, three or four yards from the water’s edge.
“Yah! you’re always sleepy,” said Bob.
“But I had to keep watch while you slept.”
“So you will have to again.”
“But that isn’t fair,” said Dexter, in ill-used tones. “It’s your turn to watch now.”
“Well, I’ll watch half the night, if you watch the other,” said Bob. “That’s fair, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Then I shall lie down now, and you can call me when it’s twelve o’clock.”
“But I shan’t know when it is,” protested Dexter.
“Well, I ain’t particular,” said Bob, stretching himself beneath the tree. “Guess what you think’s fair half, and I’ll get up then.”
“But will you get up!” said Dexter.
“Of course I will, if you call loud enough. There, don’t bother, I’m ever so tired with rowing, and I shall go to sleep at once.”
Bob kept his word as soon as darkness had set in, and Dexter sat listening to the lapping of the water, and wondered whether, if they camped out like this in a foreign land, crocodiles would come out of the rivers and attack them.
He sat down, for he soon grew tired of standing and walking about, and listened to Bob’s heavy breathing, for the boy had gone off at once.
It was very dark under the trees, and he could only see the glint of a star from time to time. It felt cold too, but as he drew himself close together with his chin down upon his knees he soon forgot that, and began thinking about the two owls he had heard the past night. Then he thought about the long-legged herons he had seen fishing in the water; then about their own fishing, and what capital fish the smelts were.
From that he began to think about hunting out the cray-fish from the banks, and how one of the little things had nipped his fingers quite sharply.
Next he began to wonder what Helen Grayson thought about him, and what the doctor had said, and whether he should ever see them again, and whether he should like Bob any better after a time, when camping out with him, and how long it would be before they reached one of the beautiful hot countries, where you could gather cocoa-nuts off the trees and watch the lovely birds as they flitted round.
And then he thought about how long it would be before he might venture to call Bob.
And then he began thinking about nothing at all.
When he opened his eyes next it was morning, with the sun shining brightly, and the birds singing, and Bob Dimsted had just kicked him in the side.
“Here, I say, wake up,” he cried. “Why, you’ve been to sleep.”
“Have I!” said Dexter sheepishly, as he stared helplessly at his companion.
“Have yer? Yes; of course yer have,” cried Bob angrily. “Ain’t to be trusted for a moment. You’re always a-going to sleep. Whatcher been and done with that there boat!”
Chapter Thirty Six.In Dire Straits.“Done with the boat?”“I haven’t done anything with the boat.”“Then where is it?”“Fastened up to that old tree.”“Oh, is it!” cried Bob derisively. “I should like to see it, then. Come and show me!”Dexter ran to the water’s edge, and found the place on the bark where the chain had rubbed the trunk, but there was no sign of the boat.“Now then,” cried Bob fiercely, “where is it?”“I don’t know,” said Dexter dolefully. “Yes, I do,” he cried. “The chain must have come undone, and it’s floating away.”“Oh, is it?” said Bob derisively. “Then you’d better go and find it!”“Go and find it?”“Yes; we can’t go to sea in our boots, can we, stoopid?”“But which way shall I go, Bob? Sometimes the tide runs up, and sometimes it runs down.”“Yes, and I’ll make you run up and down. You’re a nice un, you are! I just shet my eyes for a few minutes, and trust you to look after the boat, and when I wake up again you’re fass asleep, and the boat gone.”“I’m very sorry, Bob, but I was so tired.”“Tired! You tired! What on? Here, go and find that boat!”Dexter started off, and ran along the bank in one direction, while Bob went in the other, and at the end of half an hour Dexter came back feeling miserable and despondent as he had never felt before.“Found it, Bob!” he said.For answer his companion threw himself down upon his face, and began beating the ground with his fists, as if it were a drum.“I’ve looked along there as far as I could go,” said Dexter sadly. “What shall we do!”“I wish this here was your stoopid head,” snarled Bob, as he hammered away at the bare ground beneath the tree. “I never see such a chap!”“But what shall we do?” said Dexter again.“Do? I dunno, and I don’t care. You lost the boat, and you’ve got to find it.”“Let’s go on together and walk all along the bank till we find somebody who has seen it.”“And when we do find ’em d’yer think they’ll be such softs as to give it to us back again!” This was a startling question.“I know ’em,” said Bob. “They’ll want to know where we got it from, and how we come by it, and all sorts o’ nonsense o’ that kind. Say we ain’t no right to it. I know what they’ll say.”“But p’r’aps it’s floating about?”“P’r’aps you’re floating about!” cried Bob, with a snarl. “Boat like that don’t go floating about without some one in it, and if it does some one gets hold of it, and says it’s his.”This was a terrible check to their adventurous voyage, as unexpected as it was sudden, and Dexter looked dolefully up in his companion’s face.“I know’d how it would be, and I was a stoopid to bring such a chap as you,” continued Bob, who seemed happiest when he was scolding. “You’ve lost the boat, and we shall have to go back.”“Go back!” cried Dexter, with a look of horror, as he saw in imagination the stern countenance of the doctor, his tutor’s searching eyes, Helen’s look of reproach, and Sir James Danby waiting to ask him what had become of the boat, while Master Edgar seemed full of triumph at his downfall.“Go back?” No he could not go back. He felt as if he would rather jump into the river.“We shall both get a good leathering, and that won’t hurt so very much.”A good leathering! If it had been only the thrashing, Dexter felt that he would have suffered that; but his stay at the doctor’s had brought forth other feelings that had been lying dormant, and now the thrashing seemed to him the slightest part of the punishment that he would have to face. No: he could not go back.“Well, whatcher going to do!” said Bob at last, with provoking coolness. “You lost the boat, and you’ve got to find it.”“I will try, Bob,” said Dexter humbly. “But come and help me.”“Help yer? Why should I come and help yer? You lost it, I tell yer.”Bob jumped up and doubled his fists.“Now then,” he said; “get on, d’yer hear? get on—get on!”At every word he struck out at Dexter, giving him heavy blows on the arms—in the chest—anywhere he could reach.Dexter’s face became like flame, but he contented himself with trying to avoid the blows.“Look here!” he cried suddenly.“No, it’s you’ve got to look here,” cried Bob. “You’ve got to find that there boat.”Dexter had had what he thought was a bright idea, but it was only a spark, and it died out, leaving his spirit dark once more, and he seemed now to be face to face with the greatest trouble of his life. All his cares at the Union, and then at the doctor’s, sank into insignificance before this terrible check to their adventure. For without the boat how could they get out of England? They could not borrow another. There was a great blank before him just at this outset of his career, and try how he would to see something beyond he could find nothing: all was blank, hopeless, and full of despair.Had his comrade been true to him, and taken his share of the troubles, it would have been bad enough; but it was gradually dawning upon Dexter that the boy he had half-idolised for his cleverness and general knowledge was a contemptible, ill-humoured bully—a despicable young tyrant, ready to seize every opportunity to oppress.“Are you a-going?” cried Bob, growing more brutal as he found that his victim made no resistance, and giving him a blow on the jaw which sent him staggering against one of the trees.This was too much; and recovering himself Dexter was about to dash at his assailant when he stopped short, for an idea that seemed incontrovertible struck him so sharply that it drove away all thought of the brutal blow he had received.“I know, Bob,” he cried.“Know? What d’yer know?”“Where the boat is.”“Yer do?”“Yes: that man followed us and took it away.”Bob opened his mouth, and half-closed his eyes to stare at his companion, as he balanced this idea in his rather muddy brain.“Don’t you see?” cried Dexter excitedly.“Come arter us and stole it!” said Bob slowly.“Yes: he must have watched us, and waited till we were asleep.”“Go on with you!”“He did. I feel as sure as sure,” cried Dexter.There was a pause during which Bob went on balancing the matter in his mind.“He has taken it up the river, and he thinks we shall be afraid to go after it.”“Then he just thinks wrong,” said Bob, nodding his head a good deal. “I thought something o’ that kind a bit ago, but you made me so wild I forgot it again.”“But you see now, Bob.”“See? O’ course I do. I’ll just let him know—a thief. Here, come on, and we’ll drop on to him with a policeman, and show him what stealing boats means.”“No, no, Bob, we can’t go with a policeman. Let’s go ourselves, and make him give it up.”“But s’pose he won’t give it to us!”“We should have to take it,” said Dexter excitedly.“Come on, then. He’s got my fishing-tackle too, and—why just look at that! Did you put them there?”He darted to where his bundle and rough fishing-rod lay among the trees.“No; he must have thrown them out. Let’s make haste. We know where the boat is now!”The boys started at once, and began to tramp back along the side of the river in the hope of finding the place where the boat was moored; but before they had gone far it was to find that floating down with the stream, or even rowing against the tide, was much easier work than forcing their way through patches of alder-bushes, swampy meadows, leaping, and sometimes wading, little inlets and ditches and the like.Their progress was very slow, the sun very hot, and at least a dozen times now they came upon spots which struck both as being the muddy bank off which they had captured the smelts.It was quite afternoon before they were convinced, for their further passage was stopped by the muddy inlet up which they had seen the man row, and not a hundred yards away was the bank under which they had fished.“Sure this is the place?” said Bob, as he crouched among some osiers and looked cautiously round.“Yes,” said Dexter; “I’m certain this is the place. I saw him row up here. But—”“But what?”“He’d be quite sure not to take the boat up here.”“Why not?”“For fear we should come after it.”“Get out! Where would he take it, then?”“He’d hide it somewhere else; perhaps on the other side. Look!”Dexter pointed up the river to where, about a couple of hundred yards further on, a boat could be seen just issuing from a bed of reeds.Bob seized Dexter’s arm to force him lower down among the osiers, but it was not necessary, for they were both well concealed; and as they continued there watching it was to see the boat come slowly toward them, and in a few minutes they were satisfied that it was the man they sought, propelling it slowly toward where they stooped.The fellow came along in a furtive manner, looking sharply round from time to time, as if scanning the river to see if he was observed.He came on and on till he reached the creek at whose mouth the boys were hidden, and as he came so close that they felt it impossible that they could remain unseen he suddenly ceased rowing, and stood up to shade his eyes from the sunshine, and gaze sharply down the river for some minutes.Then giving a grunt as of satisfaction he reseated himself, and rowed slowly up the creek, till he disappeared among the osiers and reeds which fringed its muddy banks.As he passed up he disturbed a shoal of large fish which came surging down, making quite a wave in the creek, till they reached the river, where all was still.“The boat’s up there, Bob,” said Dexter, after a long silence, so as to give the man time to get well out of hearing.“Yes, but how are we to get to it?”“Wade,” said Dexter laconically. “’Tain’t deep, only muddy.”To cross the creek was necessary, and Bob softly let himself down from the bank till his feet were level with the water, then taking hold of a stout osier above his head he bent it down, and then dropped slowly into the water, which came nearly to his waist.“Come on!” he said, and after getting to the end of the osier he used his rod as a guide to try the depth, and with some difficulty, and the water very nearly to his chest, he got over.Dexter did not hesitate, but followed, and began to wade, feeling his feet sink at every step into the sticky mud, and very glad to seize hold of the end of the rod Bob was civil enough to hold to him from the further bank, up which they both crept, dripping like water-rats, and hid among the osiers on the other side.“Come on,” whispered Bob, and with the mud and water trickling from them they crept along through quite a thicket of reeds, osiers, and the red-flowered willow-herb, while great purple patches of loosestrife blossomed above their heads.Every step took them further from the enemy, but they kept down in their stooping position, and a few yards from the bank of the river, feeling sure that they could not miss their way; and so it proved, for after what seemed to be an interminable journey they found themselves stopped by just such another creek as that which they had left, save and except that the mouth was completely hidden by a bed of reeds some of which showed where a boat had lately passed through.Whether their boat was there or not they could not tell, but it seemed easy to follow up the creek from the side they were on, and they crept along through the water-growth, which was thicker here than ever, but keeping as close as they could to the side, the scarped bank being about eight feet above the water.The creek was not above twenty feet wide, and, from the undisturbed state of the vegetation which flourished down its banks to where the tide seemed to rise, it seemed as if it was a rare thing for a boat to pass along.They stopped at every few yards to make sure that they were not passing that of which they were in search, looking carefully up and down, while the creek twined so much that they could never see any extent of water at a time.They must have wound in and out for quite three hundred yards, when, all at once, as they stooped there, panting and heated with the exercise, and with the hot sun beating down upon their heads, Dexter, who was in front, stopped short, for on his right the dense growth of reeds suddenly ceased, and on peering out it was to see a broad opening where they had been cut down, while within thirty yards stood a large stack of bundles, and beside it a rough-looking hut, toward which the man they had seen rowing up the other creek was walking.They had come right upon his home, which seemed to be upon a reedy island formed by the two creeks and the river.The boys crouched down, afraid to stir, and watching till they saw the man enter the rough reed-thatched hut, when, moving close to the edge of the bank, they crept on again after a few moments’ hesitation, connected with an idea of making a retreat.Their perseverance was rewarded, for not fifty yards further on they looked down upon what seemed to be a quantity of reeds floating at the side of the creek, but one bundle had slipped off, and there, plainly enough, was the gunwale of the boat, the reeds having been laid across it to act as a concealment in case any one should glance carelessly up the creek.“Come on, Bob,” whispered Dexter; and he let himself slide down into the muddy water as silently as he could, and began to tumble the bundles of reeds off into the creek.Bob followed his example, and, to their great delight, they found that the sculls and boat-hook were still in their places, while the boat-chain was secured to a stake thrust down into the mud.This was soon unloosed after they had climbed in, dripping, and covering the cushions with mud, but all that was forgotten in the delight of having found the boat.“Now, Bob, you row softly down and I’ll use the boat-hook,” whispered Dexter, as he stood up in the stern, while Bob sat down, seized the oars, and laid them in the rowlocks, ready to make the first stroke, when high above them on the bank they heard a quick, rushing noise, and directly after, to their horror, there stood, apparently too much dumbfounded to speak, the man they had seen a few minutes before going into the reed hut.
“Done with the boat?”
“I haven’t done anything with the boat.”
“Then where is it?”
“Fastened up to that old tree.”
“Oh, is it!” cried Bob derisively. “I should like to see it, then. Come and show me!”
Dexter ran to the water’s edge, and found the place on the bark where the chain had rubbed the trunk, but there was no sign of the boat.
“Now then,” cried Bob fiercely, “where is it?”
“I don’t know,” said Dexter dolefully. “Yes, I do,” he cried. “The chain must have come undone, and it’s floating away.”
“Oh, is it?” said Bob derisively. “Then you’d better go and find it!”
“Go and find it?”
“Yes; we can’t go to sea in our boots, can we, stoopid?”
“But which way shall I go, Bob? Sometimes the tide runs up, and sometimes it runs down.”
“Yes, and I’ll make you run up and down. You’re a nice un, you are! I just shet my eyes for a few minutes, and trust you to look after the boat, and when I wake up again you’re fass asleep, and the boat gone.”
“I’m very sorry, Bob, but I was so tired.”
“Tired! You tired! What on? Here, go and find that boat!”
Dexter started off, and ran along the bank in one direction, while Bob went in the other, and at the end of half an hour Dexter came back feeling miserable and despondent as he had never felt before.
“Found it, Bob!” he said.
For answer his companion threw himself down upon his face, and began beating the ground with his fists, as if it were a drum.
“I’ve looked along there as far as I could go,” said Dexter sadly. “What shall we do!”
“I wish this here was your stoopid head,” snarled Bob, as he hammered away at the bare ground beneath the tree. “I never see such a chap!”
“But what shall we do?” said Dexter again.
“Do? I dunno, and I don’t care. You lost the boat, and you’ve got to find it.”
“Let’s go on together and walk all along the bank till we find somebody who has seen it.”
“And when we do find ’em d’yer think they’ll be such softs as to give it to us back again!” This was a startling question.
“I know ’em,” said Bob. “They’ll want to know where we got it from, and how we come by it, and all sorts o’ nonsense o’ that kind. Say we ain’t no right to it. I know what they’ll say.”
“But p’r’aps it’s floating about?”
“P’r’aps you’re floating about!” cried Bob, with a snarl. “Boat like that don’t go floating about without some one in it, and if it does some one gets hold of it, and says it’s his.”
This was a terrible check to their adventurous voyage, as unexpected as it was sudden, and Dexter looked dolefully up in his companion’s face.
“I know’d how it would be, and I was a stoopid to bring such a chap as you,” continued Bob, who seemed happiest when he was scolding. “You’ve lost the boat, and we shall have to go back.”
“Go back!” cried Dexter, with a look of horror, as he saw in imagination the stern countenance of the doctor, his tutor’s searching eyes, Helen’s look of reproach, and Sir James Danby waiting to ask him what had become of the boat, while Master Edgar seemed full of triumph at his downfall.
“Go back?” No he could not go back. He felt as if he would rather jump into the river.
“We shall both get a good leathering, and that won’t hurt so very much.”
A good leathering! If it had been only the thrashing, Dexter felt that he would have suffered that; but his stay at the doctor’s had brought forth other feelings that had been lying dormant, and now the thrashing seemed to him the slightest part of the punishment that he would have to face. No: he could not go back.
“Well, whatcher going to do!” said Bob at last, with provoking coolness. “You lost the boat, and you’ve got to find it.”
“I will try, Bob,” said Dexter humbly. “But come and help me.”
“Help yer? Why should I come and help yer? You lost it, I tell yer.”
Bob jumped up and doubled his fists.
“Now then,” he said; “get on, d’yer hear? get on—get on!”
At every word he struck out at Dexter, giving him heavy blows on the arms—in the chest—anywhere he could reach.
Dexter’s face became like flame, but he contented himself with trying to avoid the blows.
“Look here!” he cried suddenly.
“No, it’s you’ve got to look here,” cried Bob. “You’ve got to find that there boat.”
Dexter had had what he thought was a bright idea, but it was only a spark, and it died out, leaving his spirit dark once more, and he seemed now to be face to face with the greatest trouble of his life. All his cares at the Union, and then at the doctor’s, sank into insignificance before this terrible check to their adventure. For without the boat how could they get out of England? They could not borrow another. There was a great blank before him just at this outset of his career, and try how he would to see something beyond he could find nothing: all was blank, hopeless, and full of despair.
Had his comrade been true to him, and taken his share of the troubles, it would have been bad enough; but it was gradually dawning upon Dexter that the boy he had half-idolised for his cleverness and general knowledge was a contemptible, ill-humoured bully—a despicable young tyrant, ready to seize every opportunity to oppress.
“Are you a-going?” cried Bob, growing more brutal as he found that his victim made no resistance, and giving him a blow on the jaw which sent him staggering against one of the trees.
This was too much; and recovering himself Dexter was about to dash at his assailant when he stopped short, for an idea that seemed incontrovertible struck him so sharply that it drove away all thought of the brutal blow he had received.
“I know, Bob,” he cried.
“Know? What d’yer know?”
“Where the boat is.”
“Yer do?”
“Yes: that man followed us and took it away.”
Bob opened his mouth, and half-closed his eyes to stare at his companion, as he balanced this idea in his rather muddy brain.
“Don’t you see?” cried Dexter excitedly.
“Come arter us and stole it!” said Bob slowly.
“Yes: he must have watched us, and waited till we were asleep.”
“Go on with you!”
“He did. I feel as sure as sure,” cried Dexter.
There was a pause during which Bob went on balancing the matter in his mind.
“He has taken it up the river, and he thinks we shall be afraid to go after it.”
“Then he just thinks wrong,” said Bob, nodding his head a good deal. “I thought something o’ that kind a bit ago, but you made me so wild I forgot it again.”
“But you see now, Bob.”
“See? O’ course I do. I’ll just let him know—a thief. Here, come on, and we’ll drop on to him with a policeman, and show him what stealing boats means.”
“No, no, Bob, we can’t go with a policeman. Let’s go ourselves, and make him give it up.”
“But s’pose he won’t give it to us!”
“We should have to take it,” said Dexter excitedly.
“Come on, then. He’s got my fishing-tackle too, and—why just look at that! Did you put them there?”
He darted to where his bundle and rough fishing-rod lay among the trees.
“No; he must have thrown them out. Let’s make haste. We know where the boat is now!”
The boys started at once, and began to tramp back along the side of the river in the hope of finding the place where the boat was moored; but before they had gone far it was to find that floating down with the stream, or even rowing against the tide, was much easier work than forcing their way through patches of alder-bushes, swampy meadows, leaping, and sometimes wading, little inlets and ditches and the like.
Their progress was very slow, the sun very hot, and at least a dozen times now they came upon spots which struck both as being the muddy bank off which they had captured the smelts.
It was quite afternoon before they were convinced, for their further passage was stopped by the muddy inlet up which they had seen the man row, and not a hundred yards away was the bank under which they had fished.
“Sure this is the place?” said Bob, as he crouched among some osiers and looked cautiously round.
“Yes,” said Dexter; “I’m certain this is the place. I saw him row up here. But—”
“But what?”
“He’d be quite sure not to take the boat up here.”
“Why not?”
“For fear we should come after it.”
“Get out! Where would he take it, then?”
“He’d hide it somewhere else; perhaps on the other side. Look!”
Dexter pointed up the river to where, about a couple of hundred yards further on, a boat could be seen just issuing from a bed of reeds.
Bob seized Dexter’s arm to force him lower down among the osiers, but it was not necessary, for they were both well concealed; and as they continued there watching it was to see the boat come slowly toward them, and in a few minutes they were satisfied that it was the man they sought, propelling it slowly toward where they stooped.
The fellow came along in a furtive manner, looking sharply round from time to time, as if scanning the river to see if he was observed.
He came on and on till he reached the creek at whose mouth the boys were hidden, and as he came so close that they felt it impossible that they could remain unseen he suddenly ceased rowing, and stood up to shade his eyes from the sunshine, and gaze sharply down the river for some minutes.
Then giving a grunt as of satisfaction he reseated himself, and rowed slowly up the creek, till he disappeared among the osiers and reeds which fringed its muddy banks.
As he passed up he disturbed a shoal of large fish which came surging down, making quite a wave in the creek, till they reached the river, where all was still.
“The boat’s up there, Bob,” said Dexter, after a long silence, so as to give the man time to get well out of hearing.
“Yes, but how are we to get to it?”
“Wade,” said Dexter laconically. “’Tain’t deep, only muddy.”
To cross the creek was necessary, and Bob softly let himself down from the bank till his feet were level with the water, then taking hold of a stout osier above his head he bent it down, and then dropped slowly into the water, which came nearly to his waist.
“Come on!” he said, and after getting to the end of the osier he used his rod as a guide to try the depth, and with some difficulty, and the water very nearly to his chest, he got over.
Dexter did not hesitate, but followed, and began to wade, feeling his feet sink at every step into the sticky mud, and very glad to seize hold of the end of the rod Bob was civil enough to hold to him from the further bank, up which they both crept, dripping like water-rats, and hid among the osiers on the other side.
“Come on,” whispered Bob, and with the mud and water trickling from them they crept along through quite a thicket of reeds, osiers, and the red-flowered willow-herb, while great purple patches of loosestrife blossomed above their heads.
Every step took them further from the enemy, but they kept down in their stooping position, and a few yards from the bank of the river, feeling sure that they could not miss their way; and so it proved, for after what seemed to be an interminable journey they found themselves stopped by just such another creek as that which they had left, save and except that the mouth was completely hidden by a bed of reeds some of which showed where a boat had lately passed through.
Whether their boat was there or not they could not tell, but it seemed easy to follow up the creek from the side they were on, and they crept along through the water-growth, which was thicker here than ever, but keeping as close as they could to the side, the scarped bank being about eight feet above the water.
The creek was not above twenty feet wide, and, from the undisturbed state of the vegetation which flourished down its banks to where the tide seemed to rise, it seemed as if it was a rare thing for a boat to pass along.
They stopped at every few yards to make sure that they were not passing that of which they were in search, looking carefully up and down, while the creek twined so much that they could never see any extent of water at a time.
They must have wound in and out for quite three hundred yards, when, all at once, as they stooped there, panting and heated with the exercise, and with the hot sun beating down upon their heads, Dexter, who was in front, stopped short, for on his right the dense growth of reeds suddenly ceased, and on peering out it was to see a broad opening where they had been cut down, while within thirty yards stood a large stack of bundles, and beside it a rough-looking hut, toward which the man they had seen rowing up the other creek was walking.
They had come right upon his home, which seemed to be upon a reedy island formed by the two creeks and the river.
The boys crouched down, afraid to stir, and watching till they saw the man enter the rough reed-thatched hut, when, moving close to the edge of the bank, they crept on again after a few moments’ hesitation, connected with an idea of making a retreat.
Their perseverance was rewarded, for not fifty yards further on they looked down upon what seemed to be a quantity of reeds floating at the side of the creek, but one bundle had slipped off, and there, plainly enough, was the gunwale of the boat, the reeds having been laid across it to act as a concealment in case any one should glance carelessly up the creek.
“Come on, Bob,” whispered Dexter; and he let himself slide down into the muddy water as silently as he could, and began to tumble the bundles of reeds off into the creek.
Bob followed his example, and, to their great delight, they found that the sculls and boat-hook were still in their places, while the boat-chain was secured to a stake thrust down into the mud.
This was soon unloosed after they had climbed in, dripping, and covering the cushions with mud, but all that was forgotten in the delight of having found the boat.
“Now, Bob, you row softly down and I’ll use the boat-hook,” whispered Dexter, as he stood up in the stern, while Bob sat down, seized the oars, and laid them in the rowlocks, ready to make the first stroke, when high above them on the bank they heard a quick, rushing noise, and directly after, to their horror, there stood, apparently too much dumbfounded to speak, the man they had seen a few minutes before going into the reed hut.
Chapter Thirty Seven.Second-Hand Stealing.“Here, you, sir! stop!” he roared.“Pull away, Bob!” whispered Dexter, for Bob had paused, half-paralysed by the nearness of the danger. But he obeyed the second command, and tugged at the oars.“D’yer hear!” roared the man, with a furious string of oaths. “Hold hard or I’ll—”He did not say what, but made a gesture as if striking with a great force.“Don’t speak, Bob: pull hard,” whispered Dexter, bending forward in the boat so as to reach the rower, and encourage him to make fresh efforts, while, for his part, he kept his eyes upon the man.“D’yer hear what I say?” he roared again. “What d’yer mean by coming here to steal my boat?”“’Tain’t yours,” cried Dexter.“What? Didn’t I buy it of yer and pay for it?”“You came and stole it while we were asleep, you thief!” cried Dexter again.“Say I stole yer boat and I’ll drown’d yer,” cried the man, forcing his way through the reeds and osiers so as to keep up with them. “If you don’t take that back it’ll be the worse for yer. Stop! D’yer hear? Stop!”Bob stopped again, for the man’s aspect was alarming, and every moment he seemed as if he was about to leap from the high bank.Fortunately for all parties he did not do this, as if he had reached the edge of the boat he must have capsized it, and if he had leaped into the bottom, he must have gone right through.Bob did not realise all this; but he felt certain that the man would jump, and, with great drops of fear upon his forehead he kept on stopping as the man threatened, and, but for Dexter’s urging, the boat would have been given up.“I can hear yer,” the man roared, with a fierce oath. “I hear yer telling him to row. Just wait till I get hold of you, my gentleman!”“Row, Bob, row!” panted Dexter, “as soon as we’re out in the river we shall be safe.”“But he’ll be down upon us d’reckly,” whispered Bob.“Go on rowing, I tell you, he daren’t jump.”“You won’t stop, then, won’t yer?” cried the man. “If yer don’t stop I’ll drive a hole through the bottom, and sink yer both.”“No, he won’t,” whispered Dexter. “Row, Bob, row! He can’t reach us, and he has nothing to throw.”Bob groaned, but he went on rowing; and in his dread took the boat so near the further side that he kept striking one scull against the muddy bank, and then, in his efforts to get room to catch water, he thrust the head of the boat toward the bank where the man was stamping with fury, and raging at them to go back.This went on for a hundred yards, and they were still far from the open river, when the man gave a shout at them and ran on, disappearing among the low growth on the bank.“Now, Bob, he has gone,” said Dexter excitedly, “pull steadily, and as hard as you can. Mind and don’t run her head into the bank, or we shall be caught.”Bob looked up at him with a face full of abject fear and misery, but he was in that frame of weak-mindedness which made him ready to obey any one who spoke, and he rowed on pretty quickly.Twice over he nearly went into the opposite bank, with the risk of getting the prow stuck fast in the clayey mud, but a drag at the left scull saved it, and they were getting rapidly on now, when all at once Dexter caught sight of their enemy at a part of the creek where it narrowed and the bank overhung a little.The man had run on to that spot, and had lain down on his chest, so as to be as far over as he could be to preserve his balance, and he was reaching out with his hands, and a malicious look of satisfaction was in his face, as the boat was close upon him before Dexter caught sight of him, Bob of course having his back in the direction they were going.“Look out, Bob,” shouted Dexter. “Pull your right! pull your right!”Bob was so startled that he looked up over his shoulder, saw the enemy, and tugged at the wrong oar so hard that he sent the boat right toward the overhanging bank.“I’ve got yer now, have I, then?” roared the man fiercely; and as the boat drifted towards him he reached down and made a snatch with his hand at Dexter’s collar.As a matter of course the boy ducked down, and the man overbalanced himself.For a moment it seemed as if he would come down into the boat, over which he hung, slanting down and clinging with both hands now, and glaring at them with his mouth open and his eyes starting, looking for all the world like some huge gargoyle on the top of a cathedral tower.“Stop!” he roared; and then he literally turned over and came so nearly into the boat that he touched the stern as it passed, and the water he raised in a tremendous splash flew all over the boys.“Now, Bob, pull, pull, pull!” cried Dexter, stamping his foot as he looked back and saw the man rise out of the water to come splashing after them for a few paces; but wading through mud and water was not the way to overtake a retreating boat, and to Dexter’s horror he saw the fellow struggle to the side and begin to scramble up the bank.Once he slipped back; but he began to clamber up again, and his head was above the edge when, in obedience to Bob’s tugging at the sculls, the boat glided round one of the various curves of the little creek and shut him from their view.“He’ll drown’d us. He said he would,” whimpered Bob. “Let’s leave the boat and run.”“No, no!” cried Dexter; “pull hard, and we shall get out into the river, and he can’t follow us.”“Yes, he can,” cried Bob, blubbering now aloud. “He means it, and he’ll half-kill us. Let’s get out to this side and run.”“Pull! I tell you, pull!” cried Dexter furiously; and Bob pulled obediently, sending the boat along fast round the curves and bends, but not so fast but that they heard a furious rustling of the osiers and reeds, and saw the figure of the man above them on the bank.“There, I told you so,” whimpered Bob. “Let’s get out t’other side.”“Row, I tell you!” roared Dexter; and to his surprise the man did not stop, but hurried on toward the mouth of the creek.“There!” cried Bob. “He’s gone for his boat, and he’ll stop us, and he’ll drown’d us both.”“He daren’t,” said Dexter stoutly, though he felt a peculiar sinking all the time.“But he will, he will. It’s no use to row.”Dexter felt desperate now, for theirs was an awkward position; and to his horror he saw that Bob was ceasing to row, and looking up at the bank on his left.“You go on rowing,” cried Dexter fiercely.“I shan’t,” whimpered Bob; “it’s of no use. I shan’t row no more.”Thud!Bob yelled out, more in fear than in pain, for the sound was caused by Dexter swinging the boat-hook round and striking his companion a sharp rap on the side of the head.“Go on rowing,” cried Dexter, “and keep in the middle.”Bob howled softly; but, like a horse that has just received an admonition from the whip, he bent to his task, and rowed with all his might, blubbering the while.“That’s right,” cried Dexter, who felt astonished at his hardihood. “We can’t be far now. Pull—pull hard. There, I can see the river. Hurray, Bob, we’re nearly there!”Bob sobbed and snuffled, and bent down over his oars, rowing as if for life or death. The boat was speeding swiftly through the muddy water, the opening with its deep fringe of reeds was there, and Dexter was making up his mind to try and direct Bob to pull right or left so as to get to the thinnest place that the boat might glide right out, when he saw something.“No, Bob, only a little way,” he had said. “Pull with all your might.”Then he stopped short and stared aghast.Fortunately Bob was bending down, sobbing, and straining every nerve, as if he expected another blow, otherwise he would have been chilled by Dexter’s look of dread, for there, just as if he had dropped from the bank and begun wading, was their enemy, who, as the boat neared, took up his position right in the middle of the creek, where the water was nearly to his chest, and, with the reeds at his back, waited to seize the boat.Dexter stood holding the boat-hook, half-paralysed for a few moments, and then, moved by despair, he stepped over the thwart toward Bob.“No, no,” cried the latter, ducking down his head. “I will pull—I will pull.”He did pull too, with all his might, and the boat was going swiftly through the water as Dexter stepped right over the left-hand scull, nearly toppled over, but recovered himself, and stood in the bows of the boat, as they were now within twenty yards of the man, who, wet and muddy, stood up out of the creek like some water monster about to seize the occupants of the boat for a meal.“Pull, Bob, hard!” whispered Dexter, in a low, excited voice; and Bob pulled.The boat sped on, and the man uttered a savage yell, when, with a cry of horror, Bob ceased rowing.But the boat had plenty of impetus, and it shot forward so swiftly that, to avoid its impact, the man drew a little on one side as he caught at the gunwale.Whop!Dexter struck at him with the light ash pole he held in his hand—struck at their enemy with all his might, and then turned and sat down in the boat, overcome with horror at what he had done, for he saw the man fall backward, and the water close over his head.Then there was a loud hissing, rustling sound as the boat glided through the reeds, which bent to right and left, and rose again as they passed, hiding everything which followed.The next moment the force given to the boat was expended, and it stopped outside the reeds, but only to commence another movement, for the tide bore the bows round, and the light gig began to glide softly along.“I’ve killed him,” thought Dexter; and he turned cold with horror, wondering the while at his temerity and what would follow.“Was that his head?” said Bob, in rather a piteous voice, as he sat there resting upon his oars.“Yes,” said Dexter, in a horror-stricken whisper. “I hit him right on the head.”“You’ve been and gone and done it now, then,” whimpered Bob. “You’ve killed him. That’s what you’ve done. Never did see such a chap as you!”“I couldn’t help it,” said Dexter huskily.“Yes, that’s what you always says,” cried Bob, in an ill-used tone. “I wish I hadn’t come with yer, that I do. I say, ought we to go and pick him up? It don’t matter, do it?”“Yes, Bob; we must go back and pull him out,” said Dexter, with a shudder. “Row back through the reeds. Quick, or he may be drowned!”“He won’t want any drowning after that whack you give him on the head. I don’t think I shall go back. Look! look!”Dexter was already looking at the frantic muddy figure upon the bank, up which it had climbed after emerging from the reeds. The man was half-mad with rage and disappointment, and he ran along shaking his fists, dancing about in his fury, and shouting to the boys what he would do.His appearance worked a miraculous effect upon the two boys. Dexter felt quite light-hearted in his relief, and Bob forgot all his sufferings and dread now that he was safely beyond their enemy’s reach. Laying the blades of the sculls flat, as the boat drifted swiftly on with the tide, he kept on splashing the water, and shouting derisively—“Yah! yah! Who cares for you? Yah! Go home and hang yourself up to dry! Yah! Who stole the boat!”Bob’s derision seemed to be like oil poured upon a fire. The man grew half-wild with rage. He yelled, spat at them, shook his fists, and danced about in his impotent fury; and the more he raged, the more delighted Bob seemed to be.“Yah! Who stole the boat!” he kept on crying; and then added mocking taunts. “Here! hi!” he shouted, his voice travelling easily over the water, so that the man heard each word. “Here! hi! Have her now? Fifteen shillings. Come on. Yah!”“Quick, Bob, row!” cried Dexter, after several vain efforts to stop his companion’s derisive cries.“Eh?” said Bob, suddenly stopping short.“Row, I tell you! Don’t you see what he’s going to do!”The man had suddenly turned and disappeared.“No,” said Bob. “I’ve scared him away.”“You haven’t,” said Dexter, with his feeling of dread coming back. “He’s running across to the other creek to get the boat.”Bob bent to his oars directly, and sent the gig rapidly along, and more and more into the swift current. He rowed so as to incline toward the further shore, and soon after they passed the mouth of the other creek.“Get out with yer,” said Bob. “He ain’t coming. And just you look here, young un; you hit me offull on the head with that there boat-hook, and as soon as ever I gits you ashore I’ll make you go down on your knees and crychi—ike; you see if I don’t, and—”“There he is, Bob,” said Dexter excitedly; and looking toward the other creek, there, sure enough, was the man in his wretched little tub of a boat, which he was forcing rapidly through the water, and looking over his shoulder from time to time at the objects of his pursuit.Bob pulled with all his might, growing pallid and muddy of complexion as the gig glided on. Matters had been bad enough before. Now the map would be ten times worse, while, to make things as bad as they could be, it soon became evident that the tide was on the turn, and that, unless they could stem it in the unequal battle of strength, they would be either swept back into their enemy’s arms or else right up the river in a different direction to that which they intended to go, and, with the task before them, should they escape, of passing their enemy’s lair once again.
“Here, you, sir! stop!” he roared.
“Pull away, Bob!” whispered Dexter, for Bob had paused, half-paralysed by the nearness of the danger. But he obeyed the second command, and tugged at the oars.
“D’yer hear!” roared the man, with a furious string of oaths. “Hold hard or I’ll—”
He did not say what, but made a gesture as if striking with a great force.
“Don’t speak, Bob: pull hard,” whispered Dexter, bending forward in the boat so as to reach the rower, and encourage him to make fresh efforts, while, for his part, he kept his eyes upon the man.
“D’yer hear what I say?” he roared again. “What d’yer mean by coming here to steal my boat?”
“’Tain’t yours,” cried Dexter.
“What? Didn’t I buy it of yer and pay for it?”
“You came and stole it while we were asleep, you thief!” cried Dexter again.
“Say I stole yer boat and I’ll drown’d yer,” cried the man, forcing his way through the reeds and osiers so as to keep up with them. “If you don’t take that back it’ll be the worse for yer. Stop! D’yer hear? Stop!”
Bob stopped again, for the man’s aspect was alarming, and every moment he seemed as if he was about to leap from the high bank.
Fortunately for all parties he did not do this, as if he had reached the edge of the boat he must have capsized it, and if he had leaped into the bottom, he must have gone right through.
Bob did not realise all this; but he felt certain that the man would jump, and, with great drops of fear upon his forehead he kept on stopping as the man threatened, and, but for Dexter’s urging, the boat would have been given up.
“I can hear yer,” the man roared, with a fierce oath. “I hear yer telling him to row. Just wait till I get hold of you, my gentleman!”
“Row, Bob, row!” panted Dexter, “as soon as we’re out in the river we shall be safe.”
“But he’ll be down upon us d’reckly,” whispered Bob.
“Go on rowing, I tell you, he daren’t jump.”
“You won’t stop, then, won’t yer?” cried the man. “If yer don’t stop I’ll drive a hole through the bottom, and sink yer both.”
“No, he won’t,” whispered Dexter. “Row, Bob, row! He can’t reach us, and he has nothing to throw.”
Bob groaned, but he went on rowing; and in his dread took the boat so near the further side that he kept striking one scull against the muddy bank, and then, in his efforts to get room to catch water, he thrust the head of the boat toward the bank where the man was stamping with fury, and raging at them to go back.
This went on for a hundred yards, and they were still far from the open river, when the man gave a shout at them and ran on, disappearing among the low growth on the bank.
“Now, Bob, he has gone,” said Dexter excitedly, “pull steadily, and as hard as you can. Mind and don’t run her head into the bank, or we shall be caught.”
Bob looked up at him with a face full of abject fear and misery, but he was in that frame of weak-mindedness which made him ready to obey any one who spoke, and he rowed on pretty quickly.
Twice over he nearly went into the opposite bank, with the risk of getting the prow stuck fast in the clayey mud, but a drag at the left scull saved it, and they were getting rapidly on now, when all at once Dexter caught sight of their enemy at a part of the creek where it narrowed and the bank overhung a little.
The man had run on to that spot, and had lain down on his chest, so as to be as far over as he could be to preserve his balance, and he was reaching out with his hands, and a malicious look of satisfaction was in his face, as the boat was close upon him before Dexter caught sight of him, Bob of course having his back in the direction they were going.
“Look out, Bob,” shouted Dexter. “Pull your right! pull your right!”
Bob was so startled that he looked up over his shoulder, saw the enemy, and tugged at the wrong oar so hard that he sent the boat right toward the overhanging bank.
“I’ve got yer now, have I, then?” roared the man fiercely; and as the boat drifted towards him he reached down and made a snatch with his hand at Dexter’s collar.
As a matter of course the boy ducked down, and the man overbalanced himself.
For a moment it seemed as if he would come down into the boat, over which he hung, slanting down and clinging with both hands now, and glaring at them with his mouth open and his eyes starting, looking for all the world like some huge gargoyle on the top of a cathedral tower.
“Stop!” he roared; and then he literally turned over and came so nearly into the boat that he touched the stern as it passed, and the water he raised in a tremendous splash flew all over the boys.
“Now, Bob, pull, pull, pull!” cried Dexter, stamping his foot as he looked back and saw the man rise out of the water to come splashing after them for a few paces; but wading through mud and water was not the way to overtake a retreating boat, and to Dexter’s horror he saw the fellow struggle to the side and begin to scramble up the bank.
Once he slipped back; but he began to clamber up again, and his head was above the edge when, in obedience to Bob’s tugging at the sculls, the boat glided round one of the various curves of the little creek and shut him from their view.
“He’ll drown’d us. He said he would,” whimpered Bob. “Let’s leave the boat and run.”
“No, no!” cried Dexter; “pull hard, and we shall get out into the river, and he can’t follow us.”
“Yes, he can,” cried Bob, blubbering now aloud. “He means it, and he’ll half-kill us. Let’s get out to this side and run.”
“Pull! I tell you, pull!” cried Dexter furiously; and Bob pulled obediently, sending the boat along fast round the curves and bends, but not so fast but that they heard a furious rustling of the osiers and reeds, and saw the figure of the man above them on the bank.
“There, I told you so,” whimpered Bob. “Let’s get out t’other side.”
“Row, I tell you!” roared Dexter; and to his surprise the man did not stop, but hurried on toward the mouth of the creek.
“There!” cried Bob. “He’s gone for his boat, and he’ll stop us, and he’ll drown’d us both.”
“He daren’t,” said Dexter stoutly, though he felt a peculiar sinking all the time.
“But he will, he will. It’s no use to row.”
Dexter felt desperate now, for theirs was an awkward position; and to his horror he saw that Bob was ceasing to row, and looking up at the bank on his left.
“You go on rowing,” cried Dexter fiercely.
“I shan’t,” whimpered Bob; “it’s of no use. I shan’t row no more.”
Thud!
Bob yelled out, more in fear than in pain, for the sound was caused by Dexter swinging the boat-hook round and striking his companion a sharp rap on the side of the head.
“Go on rowing,” cried Dexter, “and keep in the middle.”
Bob howled softly; but, like a horse that has just received an admonition from the whip, he bent to his task, and rowed with all his might, blubbering the while.
“That’s right,” cried Dexter, who felt astonished at his hardihood. “We can’t be far now. Pull—pull hard. There, I can see the river. Hurray, Bob, we’re nearly there!”
Bob sobbed and snuffled, and bent down over his oars, rowing as if for life or death. The boat was speeding swiftly through the muddy water, the opening with its deep fringe of reeds was there, and Dexter was making up his mind to try and direct Bob to pull right or left so as to get to the thinnest place that the boat might glide right out, when he saw something.
“No, Bob, only a little way,” he had said. “Pull with all your might.”
Then he stopped short and stared aghast.
Fortunately Bob was bending down, sobbing, and straining every nerve, as if he expected another blow, otherwise he would have been chilled by Dexter’s look of dread, for there, just as if he had dropped from the bank and begun wading, was their enemy, who, as the boat neared, took up his position right in the middle of the creek, where the water was nearly to his chest, and, with the reeds at his back, waited to seize the boat.
Dexter stood holding the boat-hook, half-paralysed for a few moments, and then, moved by despair, he stepped over the thwart toward Bob.
“No, no,” cried the latter, ducking down his head. “I will pull—I will pull.”
He did pull too, with all his might, and the boat was going swiftly through the water as Dexter stepped right over the left-hand scull, nearly toppled over, but recovered himself, and stood in the bows of the boat, as they were now within twenty yards of the man, who, wet and muddy, stood up out of the creek like some water monster about to seize the occupants of the boat for a meal.
“Pull, Bob, hard!” whispered Dexter, in a low, excited voice; and Bob pulled.
The boat sped on, and the man uttered a savage yell, when, with a cry of horror, Bob ceased rowing.
But the boat had plenty of impetus, and it shot forward so swiftly that, to avoid its impact, the man drew a little on one side as he caught at the gunwale.
Whop!
Dexter struck at him with the light ash pole he held in his hand—struck at their enemy with all his might, and then turned and sat down in the boat, overcome with horror at what he had done, for he saw the man fall backward, and the water close over his head.
Then there was a loud hissing, rustling sound as the boat glided through the reeds, which bent to right and left, and rose again as they passed, hiding everything which followed.
The next moment the force given to the boat was expended, and it stopped outside the reeds, but only to commence another movement, for the tide bore the bows round, and the light gig began to glide softly along.
“I’ve killed him,” thought Dexter; and he turned cold with horror, wondering the while at his temerity and what would follow.
“Was that his head?” said Bob, in rather a piteous voice, as he sat there resting upon his oars.
“Yes,” said Dexter, in a horror-stricken whisper. “I hit him right on the head.”
“You’ve been and gone and done it now, then,” whimpered Bob. “You’ve killed him. That’s what you’ve done. Never did see such a chap as you!”
“I couldn’t help it,” said Dexter huskily.
“Yes, that’s what you always says,” cried Bob, in an ill-used tone. “I wish I hadn’t come with yer, that I do. I say, ought we to go and pick him up? It don’t matter, do it?”
“Yes, Bob; we must go back and pull him out,” said Dexter, with a shudder. “Row back through the reeds. Quick, or he may be drowned!”
“He won’t want any drowning after that whack you give him on the head. I don’t think I shall go back. Look! look!”
Dexter was already looking at the frantic muddy figure upon the bank, up which it had climbed after emerging from the reeds. The man was half-mad with rage and disappointment, and he ran along shaking his fists, dancing about in his fury, and shouting to the boys what he would do.
His appearance worked a miraculous effect upon the two boys. Dexter felt quite light-hearted in his relief, and Bob forgot all his sufferings and dread now that he was safely beyond their enemy’s reach. Laying the blades of the sculls flat, as the boat drifted swiftly on with the tide, he kept on splashing the water, and shouting derisively—
“Yah! yah! Who cares for you? Yah! Go home and hang yourself up to dry! Yah! Who stole the boat!”
Bob’s derision seemed to be like oil poured upon a fire. The man grew half-wild with rage. He yelled, spat at them, shook his fists, and danced about in his impotent fury; and the more he raged, the more delighted Bob seemed to be.
“Yah! Who stole the boat!” he kept on crying; and then added mocking taunts. “Here! hi!” he shouted, his voice travelling easily over the water, so that the man heard each word. “Here! hi! Have her now? Fifteen shillings. Come on. Yah!”
“Quick, Bob, row!” cried Dexter, after several vain efforts to stop his companion’s derisive cries.
“Eh?” said Bob, suddenly stopping short.
“Row, I tell you! Don’t you see what he’s going to do!”
The man had suddenly turned and disappeared.
“No,” said Bob. “I’ve scared him away.”
“You haven’t,” said Dexter, with his feeling of dread coming back. “He’s running across to the other creek to get the boat.”
Bob bent to his oars directly, and sent the gig rapidly along, and more and more into the swift current. He rowed so as to incline toward the further shore, and soon after they passed the mouth of the other creek.
“Get out with yer,” said Bob. “He ain’t coming. And just you look here, young un; you hit me offull on the head with that there boat-hook, and as soon as ever I gits you ashore I’ll make you go down on your knees and crychi—ike; you see if I don’t, and—”
“There he is, Bob,” said Dexter excitedly; and looking toward the other creek, there, sure enough, was the man in his wretched little tub of a boat, which he was forcing rapidly through the water, and looking over his shoulder from time to time at the objects of his pursuit.
Bob pulled with all his might, growing pallid and muddy of complexion as the gig glided on. Matters had been bad enough before. Now the map would be ten times worse, while, to make things as bad as they could be, it soon became evident that the tide was on the turn, and that, unless they could stem it in the unequal battle of strength, they would be either swept back into their enemy’s arms or else right up the river in a different direction to that which they intended to go, and, with the task before them, should they escape, of passing their enemy’s lair once again.