“He’d be zorry for it if he did, for I’d zoon zend my knife through his carcass. It’s my job, zir, and I’m going.”
“I tell you I know just where it is, and I’m going to fetch it.”
“That you aren’t, zir. I won’t have you risk it.”
“Then we’ll swim the river together, Pete.”
“And what about the guns?”
“Leave them on the bank, and come back and fetch them.”
“Never find ’em again in the darkness and hurry, my lad. Now, do be zensible.”
“I’m master, and I order you to stay.”
“Which you aren’t master, zir, for we’re both zlaves, and if you talk so loud you’ll be bringing down the dogs and I’m off.”
Almost before Nic could realise it, Pete had slipped across the narrow space, lowered himself into the water, and swum away, leaving his companion horrified at the sounds he heard. For directly after the man had struck out there was a tremendous wallowing splash, which Nic felt certain had been caused by some monstrous reptile; and he crouched there grasping the guns, with a chilly perspiration breaking out over his brow.