"Pull!" mumbled the professor.
"Pull!" snorted Barney, in disgust, great drops of perspiration rolling down his face. "As if we wurn't pullin'!"
"We're not gaining."
"The white canoe keeps just so far ahead."
"Begobs! it's not our fault at all, at all."
Indeed, no matter how hard they worked, no matter how fast they made the canoe fly through the water, they could not gain on the mysterious white canoe. The distance between the two canoes seemed to remain just the same, and the one in advance slipped through the water without a sound, following the winding water course beneath the dark trees and going deeper and deeper into the heart of the swamp.
Other water courses were passed, running away into unknown and unexplorable wilds. It grew darker and darker, and the feeling of awe and fear fell more heavily upon them.
At last, exhausted and discouraged, the professor stopped paddling, crying to his companions, in a husky voice:
"Stop, boys, stop! There is something supernatural about that fiendish boat! It is luring us to some frightful fate!"
"Nonsense, professor!" retorted Frank. "You are not superstitious—you have said so at least a score of times."