They agreed that the New Englander was the most foolish of persons in attacking the criminal, for, even if he succeeded in bearing him to the ground and overcoming him, his companions had already rallied to his help and would quickly dispatch him and the driver.
Jim and Tom listened for sounds of the conflict, and the fact that they heard no shouts or more reports of fire-arms did not lessen their belief that it was all over with Lenman and Durrell.
The boys were still picking their way through the lonely woods when they found their feet sinking in the spongy earth and were stopped by a morass which grew worse at every step.
“It won’t do to go any farther over this road,” said Wagstaff, who was a few steps in advance, “for the water is getting deeper and I don’t believe there are any boats for us to use.”
The obvious course was to turn back and make an abrupt change in their route. This was done and they soon were walking over the dry leaves.
“Tom,” whispered his companion, who was still a few feet behind him, “somebody is following us.”
“You don’t say so!” exclaimed Wagstaff, stopping short and looking around in the gloom; “are you sure of that?”
“Listen!”
Both were silent. There certainly was a rustling of the leaves behind them, which could not have been made by the wind, for hardly a breath of air stirred the branches. The violent disturbance that had so alarmed them when riding in the coach had entirely subsided and was succeeded by a calm that gave no sign of the flurry.
“It’s one of them robbers,” was the frightened reply of Tom, “and he’s after us sure enough.”