A number of flash-lights whipped the water, and one big lantern shot a broad, blinding, dangerous streak. That flare of light caught the round, black head, swimming, struggling in the current, and held it.
“Now, men!” a voice called. “There’s your mark—shoot straight!”
There was a fusillade—Hitch Diamond noted with elation that the black, woolly head bobbed on.
“Fer Gawd’s sake!” Hitch murmured. “Why don’t dat coon dive an’ float?”
Suddenly an authoritative voice cried:
“Stop shooting, men! Get in your skiffs and row out there and catch that negro! It’ll take him half an hour to swim the river!”
“My Lawd!” Hitch Diamond moaned. “Little Hitchie is shore up ag’in it now!”
“Hurry, men!” the same authoritative voice called.
There was the sound of running feet along the levee, then a moment of breathless silence while the flash-lights lashed the water.
Then far out into the stream there was a loud scream, a loud splash, and silence!