Bart said no more, but followed the Irishman’s example, and together they waded on into the muddy creek, only to get a few yards from the shore, as with a furious rush the dogs crushed through the canes and reeds, to stop, breast-deep, barking savagely.
“Purty creatures!” whispered Dinny. “Sure, and we musn’t get in yet, or, if we do, it must be together. Push her out.”
“Halt, there!” cried a loud voice, suddenly. “I have you. Down, dogs! Do you hear! Halt!”
“Kape on,” whispered Dinny.
“Make ready!” cried the same voice. “Present! Will you surrender?”
“Lie down, me darlins,” whispered Dinny. “Divil a bit can they see where to shoot.”
“Fire!” cried the same voice, and a dozen flashes of light blazed out of the cane-brake. There was a roar that seemed deafening, and the darkness was once more opaque.
“Anybody hit?” whispered Dinny. “Silence gives consint,” he added to himself. “Push along, and as soon as it’s deep enough we’ll get in. Ugh! bedad, it’s up to me chin all at wanst,” he muttered. “Can you give a boy a hand?”
A hand caught his wrist, and he was helped over the stern of the boat, dripping and panting, as Bart scrambled in simultaneously, and though the little vessel threatened to overset, it held firm.
Then another volley was fired, for the bullets to go bursting through the canes, but over the fugitives’ heads, and once more darkness reigned over the hurried buzz of voices and the furious baying of the dogs.