Instead of turning round and retreating, Hezekiah ducked his head at this sudden command, so as to bring the Irishman as a sort of shield before him. Throwing him too far forward, the consequence was, that Pat went completely over his head into the water. At sight of this discomfiture of both, the man in the flat-boat evidently concluded their presence could be of little danger to him, and accordingly called out.
"Come out to the boat, and I'll help you on board."
"Murther! Can't ye pick us up?" cried Pat, floundering through the water. It being very manifest that such a feat, under the circumstances, was impossible, our two friends made the best of their way forward, and upon reaching the side of the boat were assisted on board by the man who, a few minutes before, had ordered them away so peremptorily.
"Who are you?" he demanded, as soon as they had recovered breath.
"Patrick Mulroony, from Tipperary, Ireland, at your service, sir."
"Hezekiah Smith, also."
"Isn't there any one else ashore?"
"Not that we knows of. Are you the only one on these premises?"
"No, sir, you will see my companions shortly."
The speaker was a young man of rather prepossessing address, one who, to judge from appearances, was as much a stranger in these wilds, as our two friends, who have been already introduced to the reader.