Bob’s derision seemed to be like oil poured upon a fire. The man grew half-wild with rage. He yelled, spat at them, shook his fists, and danced about in his impotent fury; and the more he raged, the more delighted Bob seemed to be.
“Yah! Who stole the boat!” he kept on crying; and then added mocking taunts. “Here! hi!” he shouted, his voice travelling easily over the water, so that the man heard each word. “Here! hi! Have her now? Fifteen shillings. Come on. Yah!”
“Quick, Bob, row!” cried Dexter, after several vain efforts to stop his companion’s derisive cries.
“Eh?” said Bob, suddenly stopping short.
“Row, I tell you! Don’t you see what he’s going to do!”
The man had suddenly turned and disappeared.
“No,” said Bob. “I’ve scared him away.”
“You haven’t,” said Dexter, with his feeling of dread coming back. “He’s running across to the other creek to get the boat.”
Bob bent to his oars directly, and sent the gig rapidly along, and more and more into the swift current. He rowed so as to incline toward the further shore, and soon after they passed the mouth of the other creek.
“Get out with yer,” said Bob. “He ain’t coming. And just you look here, young un; you hit me offull on the head with that there boat-hook, and as soon as ever I gits you ashore I’ll make you go down on your knees and cry chi—ike; you see if I don’t, and—”