“But he’ll be down upon us d’reckly,” whispered Bob.
“Go on rowing, I tell you, he daren’t jump.”
“You won’t stop, then, won’t yer?” cried the man. “If yer don’t stop I’ll drive a hole through the bottom, and sink yer both.”
“No, he won’t,” whispered Dexter. “Row, Bob, row! He can’t reach us, and he has nothing to throw.”
Bob groaned, but he went on rowing; and in his dread took the boat so near the further side that he kept striking one scull against the muddy bank, and then, in his efforts to get room to catch water, he thrust the head of the boat toward the bank where the man was stamping with fury, and raging at them to go back.
This went on for a hundred yards, and they were still far from the open river, when the man gave a shout at them and ran on, disappearing among the low growth on the bank.
“Now, Bob, he has gone,” said Dexter excitedly, “pull steadily, and as hard as you can. Mind and don’t run her head into the bank, or we shall be caught.”
Bob looked up at him with a face full of abject fear and misery, but he was in that frame of weak-mindedness which made him ready to obey any one who spoke, and he rowed on pretty quickly.
Twice over he nearly went into the opposite bank, with the risk of getting the prow stuck fast in the clayey mud, but a drag at the left scull saved it, and they were getting rapidly on now, when all at once Dexter caught sight of their enemy at a part of the creek where it narrowed and the bank overhung a little.
The man had run on to that spot, and had lain down on his chest, so as to be as far over as he could be to preserve his balance, and he was reaching out with his hands, and a malicious look of satisfaction was in his face, as the boat was close upon him before Dexter caught sight of him, Bob of course having his back in the direction they were going.