“We can’t get through this,” said Dave, as they paused at the edge of the scrub.
Tom chuckled.
“I can,” he said; “stoop down, an’ foller me.”
He went on his hands and knees, and started crawling along a track made probably by paddymelons or wallabies.
The boys wormed their way through the lantana a foot at a time, dragging their swags after them, until they arrived at the edge. Here the tall water reeds rustled their leaves softly in the night wind.
“What do you think of this fer a hiding place?” ask Tom. “Kin you see the boat?”
“No,” replied Dave, peering into the darkness. “I’ll be hanged if I can. Where is she, Tom?”
For answer Tom felt with his hands along a small log, half hidden in the mud, found a rope, and began to pull it gently towards him.
“Give as a pull,” he said.