“But—” began the man.
“Silence, sir!” cried Briscoe sharply. “All! look out!”
An arrow stuck in the side of the boat so close to Brace that it passed through his loose flannel shirt, pinning it to the wood; and Briscoe swung himself round and fired sharply in the direction from which it had come.
The shot rattled among the leaves, and they and a few twigs came pattering down into the water, while directly after there was another report from right away to their left.
“Hah! that must have come from the brig,” cried Brace.
“Right,” said Briscoe. “Now then, lads, you know which way to punt her along: the creek opens out and winds about in all sorts of ways, and I daresay we could wander in a regular maze for hours; but we know which direction to make for now. You listen keenly for the next answer to my shot, Mr Brace, for I’ll fire again soon: only I should like something to fire at. See that arrow?”
“Yes,” said Brace, stretching out his hand to withdraw the arrow from where it had pierced the side of the boat.
“Don’t do that; let it be, and draw your flannel over the feathering. Look at the slope it takes. I fancy the man who shot that must have been seated on the branch of a tree.”
“It may have been shot from a distance and taken a curve.”
“No,” said Briscoe; “there are too many boughs for it to have come through. It was sent from pretty close, I should say; and between ourselves I hope we shan’t have any more. Ah, that’s right, my lads. She’s moving nicely now. I only wish you were able to row.”