The dawn spread faster, and the reeds and alders about him began to be visible; and—yes, there was the gun, all cold to the touch and wet with dew.
“Not much shooting,” thought Dick as he mentally planned getting back to the boat, and hurrying across to Dave’s hut to replace the piece and suffer a good scolding.
“Never mind; I’ll give him a pound of powder. What’s that?”
Splashing—the rustling of reeds—voices.
There was no concealment here, and besides the sounds came in a contrary direction to that taken by the fleeing man.
“Hoi!” shouted Dick loudly.
“Hoi! hallo!” came back; and then a well-known voice cried: “Is that you, Dick?”
“Yes, father. Here! Ahoy!”
There was more splashing, more talking, and Dick’s heart leaped as he felt that his father had come in search of him, and that he would have an easier task than he had expected in finding his boat.
As the sounds approached the light increased, and Dick had no difficulty in going to meet them, picking his way carefully through the bog till he found himself close to a broad channel of reedy water, and here he had to pause.