But the three friends locked arms and fought their way on determinedly. Joey meant to get somehow to Mote, and let John's people know what he was doing.
"And after that we shall probably meet the school—going home," Gabrielle gasped out; "and we can get ourselves picked up. They'll have to come back; they can never play the match out in this wind."
"I hope they come along soon; it's going to pour by the look of the sky, and we haven't got macs," Noreen said. "There! I felt a splash of rain in my face already."
"So did I; but it wasn't rain, it tasted salt," panted Gabrielle.
"Spray couldn't come out here, could it?" asked Joey. "We're a long way from the sea."
"About a mile," Noreen screamed in her ear.
"Oh, no, spray couldn't come out here, even at the most extraordinarily high tide."
Another dash in their faces. "That came from the river," said Gabrielle.
They had almost reached the low-arched bridge that spans the river Mentle, about three-quarters of a mile beyond the Round Tower. The water was surging angrily against the arches, and, at intervals of a minute or so, sending up a great splash over the very low stone border and into the road.