"Poor devil! But I guess you're right," muttered Little, and helped by willing hands they clambered over the gunwale and fell panting into the bottom of the boat.
They got sail on the longboat and stood straight up midstream, the oars driving her until she reached the next bend, where her altered course brought the wind to a sailing point. And in response to shouted orders, the man on the bank kept pace with them, until deeper water permitted the boat to edge in and take him on board.
"Where's the launch now?" queried the skipper. The river had become as dark as a pocket. From ten fathoms out both shores were merged in one black smudge.
"He go fast, sar, long time gone," replied the man, and his teeth chattered with excitement, for he had heard his shipmate's death cry.
"Gone long time!" echoed Barry angrily. "Then what are you doing here? Why didn't you follow farther?"
"No can do, sar. 'Nother ribber join here, sar."
Investigation verified this. The man had been halted by a broad tributary stream, and fear had prevented him from swimming over. And he was not sure, either, whether the launch had gone straight up the main stream or taken the tributary. She had stolen along past him without lights, he said, and he could not follow her definitely by hearing. But the fact of her falling into silence warned Barry that she was nearing some destination or halting place, for she had left her last stop noisily enough.
"Better keep to the river and make for the sands," suggested Little. "He's sure to go there."
"I suppose he is," returned Barry, in puzzlement. "But which is the main river? I can't make it out in this coal pocket."
"Think we'd better tie up and wait until daylight, or the moon rises?"