In an agony of horror Dexter climbed into the boat, and feeling the side of the long shed he thrust and thrust with so much effect that he sent the light gig well out into the stream and half-across the river. Then seizing an oar, as the dog was now down on the bank, snapping and barking more furiously than ever, he got it over into the water, and after a great deal of paddling, and confused counter-action of his efforts, forced the boat onward and along, till it touched the shore where Bob was waiting with the box.
“No, no, don’t come out,” he whispered. “Here, help me get these in.”
Dexter crept to the stern of the boat, and in his effort to embark the box nearly fell overboard, but the treasure was safe. Then Bob handed in a basket, and a bundle of sticks, evidently his rod, and leaping in directly after, gave the boat sufficient impetus to send it well out into the stream, down which it began to glide.
“Ah, bark away, old un,” said Bob contemptuously, as the sound of the dog’s alarm notes grew more distant, and then more distant still, for they were going round a curve, and the garden side of the river was thick with trees.
“Is that Danby’s dog!” whispered Bob.
“I don’t know,” said Dexter, with his teeth chattering from cold and excitement.
“Why! you’re a-cold,” said Bob coolly. “Here, I’ll send her along. You look sharp and dress. I say, where’s your bundle of things?”
“Do you mean my clothes?”
“No! Your bundle.”
“I didn’t bring anything,” said Dexter, hurriedly slipping on his shirt.