“Don’t mention his name,” cried Vince passionately. “I should like to see the old wretch flogged.”
“I should like to do it,” said Mike grimly. “They’ll come back and find us here, for certain, if we don’t hide,” said Vince; “but I don’t know that I shall much mind now, for I’m afraid we shan’t get away.”
They glided round again, and in passing the spot where they believed the exit to be, Vince fancied he detected an eddy among some rocks, but he could not be sure; and at last they were once more approaching the cavern, with its low arch, when Vince, who was watching the far end and trying to fit together the means for getting away, suddenly snatched up the boat-hook, thrust it out, and, leaning over the stern, caught hold of a projecting rock, some two feet above the water. Then hauling hard, hand over hand along the ash pole, he checked the progress of the boat and drew it close in. Next, quick as lightning, he made another dash with the hook and caught at another projection, missed, and, as the boat was gliding back again, made another—a frantic—dash, and caught the hook in a rift, while Mike thrust out an oar against a rock to help.
This time he drew the boat right up to the mouth of the new cavern, and whispered sharply to his companion:
“Now—quick! help me run her in. Mind! duck down!”
Mike obeyed, and the boat glided in under the low arch, which just cleared their heads as they sat in the bottom of the boat, and passed on out of the bright sunshine into the chill darkness of the cave.
“Think they saw us?” whispered Vince.
“They? Saw us?”
“Didn’t you see them coming through among the rocks quite quickly?”
“No: did you?”