“Quit it,” I says, in a whisper.
“D-d-did you hear?” he asked, stuttering so he could hardly get the words out.
“Yes,” says I.
Just then Plunk Smalley, who always was doing something at the wrong minnit, had to lean forward suddenly and bang his head against a stump.
“Ouch!” he hollered.
The talk in the wagon stopped in a second, and I heard somebody leap to the ground and come jumping toward us. Of course, it was Collins, because the fat man never could have moved so fast. We were in a nice place—all sitting on the ground, without the slightest idea where to run without getting mired or tangled up in the underbrush. But we did our best. Everybody took a different direction, and you could hear folks floundering wherever you listened. The fat man had got down and was coming after us too.
“Who was it?” he yelled to Collins.
“I don’t know,” Collins yelled back, “but I’m going to get them, anyhow.” His voice sounded like he meant it, too.
Mark and Tallow and Plunk and I began getting together again, and, all in a crowd, we plunged ahead without looking where we were going. It was starting to get light now—light enough so you could see things dim-like and indistinct. All at once I splashed into the water. Water was in front of us, so we turned to the left. There was water, too. And water was behind us.
“We’re nabbed,” I says to Mark; “we’ve run out on a point of land.”