“All right,” says I. “Maybe I can’t think as fast as you can, but I can make my legs go faster.”
So off we went, for a while going as fast as we could plug, then, when we were getting so near that a man on the bridge might hear us, Mark made me stop hurrying and crawl.
“Maybe they got g-guards out,” says he, “and we can’t take any chances.”
So we crawled the rest of the way, dodging from one tree to another and getting mud on our knees and tearing holes in our pants. But it was fun. I was beginning to get excited myself, and I believe I really got to worrying about the young Duke that was held a captive. Yes, sir, I felt pretty bad about the hole he had got himself into, and says to Mark I hoped they gave him enough to eat and treated him decent.
That’s how persuading Mark is. He really gets you to think things are happening that he’s only pretending about.
Anyhow, we got to the bridge, or rather so close to it we could look it over careful and see if anybody was there. But not a soul was in sight.
“’Tain’t safe,” says Mark, “even if it looks l-like it was. They may be in ambush along the road. We got to f-find out.”
We kept on crawling until we were sure nobody was on our side of the bridge anywheres. Then Mark made us wade the river, which was only about up to our knees in spots, to be sure nobody was hid on the other side. It would have been fine if there hadn’t been a hole there and if I hadn’t stepped in it. But I did, and fell down and floundered around and let out a yell.
“Hey!” Mark whispered. “Shut up! Want to git a l-lance through your stummick?”
“Don’t expect a feller to drownd without makin’ a noise, do you?” says I. “I notice you didn’t fall into any holes.”