Soss!
That last vigorous cut did it, and the bough, with its summer burden of leaves, dropped with a splash into the water.
“There! What did I tell you!” cried Dexter’s mentor. “Now you can get back and pull all out together. Fish won’t bite for a bit after this, but they’ll be all right soon.”
Dexter shut up his knife, thrust it as well as he could into his pocket, and prepared to return.
This was not so easy, for he had to go backwards. What was more, he had to progress up hill. But, nothing daunted, he took tight hold with his hands, bore down upon them, and was in the act of thrusting himself along a few inches, when—Crack!
One loud, sharp, splintering crack, and the branch, which was rotten three parts through, broke short off close to the trunk, and like an echo to the crack came a tremendous—Plash!
That water, as already intimated, was deep, and, as a consequence, there was a tremendous splash, and branch and its rider went down right out of sight, twig after twig disappearing leisurely in the eddying swirl.