“I allow it’s the best plan, although I am much in favor of dashing and ending the matter at once,” remarked Graham, nervously handling his oars.
“And while I think of it,” pursued Haldidge, “I don’t see as it would do any hurt to muffle the oars.”
Before starting, they had abundantly provided themselves with means for this and, in a few moments a quantity of cloth was forced into the rowlocks, so as to be able to give full sweep to the oars without making enough noise to attract suspicion from the shore, unless an ear was listening more intently than usual.
By this time, too, the thick mist mentioned, had enveloped the river in an impenetrable cloud, and they shot boldly into it. The light vessel flew as swiftly and noiselessly as a bird over the water. Haldidge understood every turn and eddy in the stream, and guided the canoe with unerring certainty around the sharp bends, and by the rocks whose black heads now and then shot backward within a few feet of their side.
In this way a mile was passed when he raised his hand as a signal for them to cease efforts for a moment.
“Listen!” he uttered.
All did so, and faintly, yet distinctly and distantly, they heard the almost inaudible dip of oars, and the click of the rowlocks.
“Is that above or below?” asked Haverland, bending his head and intently listening.
“I think we have passed them sure enough,” replied Graham.
The sound certainly appeared to come from above them, and all were constrained to believe that, rowing as swiftly and powerfully as they did, they must have swept by them in the darkness without suspecting their proximity.